


Vital Signs Redux

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, But it's only a fantasy, Episode: s01e10 Vital Signs, F/M, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected turn of bad luck for June's granddaughter gives Neal the perfect way to get back into Peter's arms after the events of Bad Judgment leave a rift between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vital Signs Redux - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: References to all Season 1 eps and the other fics in my [Bindings](http://archiveofourown.org/series/111824) ‘verse.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, drama, romance, pr0n… These are the reasons we watch this show, except for the pr0n, which I am happy to supply. :-D
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others. Vincent Renard and the Palette Knife are the property of [dance_the_code](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_the_code) and are referenced with her permission.
> 
> This episode also brings up an important issue: the shortage of viable organs for those in need of a transplant. If you have not already registered as an organ, hair or tissue donor, please consider doing so; it is a chance for an ordinary person to help restore another person's dignity, or even to save someone’s life. For more information, please visit [Donate Life America](http://donatelife.net) or [OrganDonor.gov](http://www.organdonor.gov).
> 
> Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/)**dawnie_faith**. Comments = Love. ♥
> 
> Music: [When the Body Speaks – Depeche Mode](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Depeche_Mode:When_The_Body_Speaks)  
> [Love Is A Many-Spendored Thing – Frank Sinatra](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Frank_Sinatra:Love_Is_A_Many-Splendored_Thing)  
> [I’ve Got You Under My Skin – Michael Bublé](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Michael_Bubl%C3%A9:I%27ve_Got_You_Under_My_Skin)  
> [Within Your Eyes – Gorky Park](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gorky_Park:Within_Your_Eyes)

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  


~ooooOOOoooo~

 

The separation from Peter had Neal moping. He didn’t like the word; it carried connotations of sitting around with barely touched glasses of red wine, listening to melancholy pop songs from the eighties or early nineties, not even bothering to turn on lamps as the sun went down and sitting for hours, alone in the dark, staring blankly at a world that felt colorless and silent.

Which was exactly what he was doing anyway, but he didn’t like thinking about it. And it was a waste of perfectly good wine.

Whatever conclusions he’d drawn about why Neal was acting this way, Moz was reserving his commentary, bless him. Neal hadn’t expected him to be such a rock. His oldest friend and mentor simply came and shared stories, old and new, coaxing Neal into a few smiles and trying to keep the shadows in Neal’s eyes at bay. He didn’t ask what caused them. He also didn’t bring up the music box after the first time.

“Look at it this way,” he’d told Neal. “You’re going to steal something you’ve already gotten credit for stealing. We could even float a story that someone found where you’d hidden it and stole it from you while you were inside. You could get credit for stealing it _twice_.”

The idea had made Neal laugh out loud. “It’s tempting… be one Helluva boost to my reputation.”

“Vincent Renard will be asking for your autograph if we can manage it,” Moz had asserted.

Neal’s good humor had evaporated at the reference. If there was one person he knew whose information could be trusted, it was the owner of the Palette Knife, a Parisian bar infamous for patronage by art thieves from across Europe. Nothing passed through the Palette Knife that escaped Vincent Renard’s knowledge. “We’ve got contacts in Paris, right?”

“Of course.” Moz had begun to grow concerned. His comment shouldn’t have set Neal off that quickly. _This isn’t just about Kate… is it the fed? Is he fighting with the suit again?_

“See if anyone knows where Alex is these days.” Neal’s voice had been soft, his eyes dark and far away. _I can’t stop looking just because Peter doesn’t want me right now… I need to keep working on this…_ “She got the closest to the music box and she might be willing to help.”

Moz had blinked, then nodded slowly and changed the subject. He did not bring up the amber music box again.

* * *

It was the second Sunday after Peter had asked for a break that June finally intervened. “You need to get out of the house,” June admonished over breakfast. “You’ve been a shadow of yourself for more than a week. My granddaughter Samantha’s soccer team has a game in the Park this afternoon, and the field is well within your radius. It will do you good to come with me and watch the children play.”

Neal blinked at her, then smiled softly. “You shouldn’t worry about me, June. There’s just a lot on my mind lately.”

“Nonsense! Besides, it’s the first time in weeks that Samantha’s been well enough to play. You’re coming.”

Her insistence broadened Neal’s smile, and then he bit his lip in hesitation. “Her parents won’t mind? About me, I mean?”

June reached over and patted Neal’s hand sympathetically. “Neal, my children know who and what their father was, and they know why I’ve taken you in. I haven’t made any sudden trips to my estate lawyer or unexplained changes to my investments. You have nothing to fear. Now finish your breakfast and we’ll walk down to the Park.”

The stroll through the winding paths of Central Park was pleasant: bright blue sky, glittering sunlight on full green leaves, people laughing and talking and enjoying the day. As a further distraction from his melancholy, Neal encouraged June to give him the details about Samantha’s medical condition. It surprised him to learn that it was serious enough that the eight-year-old needed a kidney transplant. June had never mentioned it to him before. _Either it’s been under control until now or she didn’t want to bring it up because all we can do is wait. I should see about getting registered as an organ donor._

Settling in on a bench under a gazebo near the field, June patted Neal’s hand as he took a long breath of fresh air. “Now then… isn’t this better than staying cooped up in the house all day?”

Neal chuckled, letting himself relax for the first time in more than a week. “Scenery… fresh air… just about everything that I couldn’t get at my last address.”

“Byron loved the park, too,” June remembered, a smile playing on her face. “For very much the same reasons.”

His smile broadened into a grin. At any other time in his life, Neal would gladly have become a companion to someone like June. She was elegant, funny, warm, intelligent… everything he could want, and she seemed to find him charming enough. But there was Kate, and Peter, and June seemed to care for him more than enough without Neal angling for more, and Neal valued June’s friendship far too much to try, anyway. “You do like bad boys,” was his only comment.

June’s response was a sparkling laugh, and they turned their attention to the game. Samantha was number 16, and Neal watched a young girl who looked perfectly healthy, perfectly normal chase the ball down the field and score a goal for her team. “She’s pretty good,” Neal observed, proud of the girl on June’s behalf.

“Yes, she is.” June’s pride in her granddaughter was obvious; it warmed Neal’s heart to see it.

The eight-year-old came scrambling towards their bench, and Neal braced for the impact of a smaller person between them. “Here she comes.”

June merely reached out her hands and her granddaughter caught them, and Neal was saved from having to move. “Grandma June! Did you see?”

“Yes, I did and you were wonderful!”

Samantha’s dark eyes sparkled, her smile open and happy and innocent. “I’m gonna go again! Watch!” She backed up and turned to run back to the field, energy and joy radiating from her.

“Okay, I’m watching!” June smiled, giving her a quick clap of encouragement as she ran back to the field.

“Go get ‘em!” Neal wasn’t hurt by the fact that Samantha hadn’t even acknowledged him. He was just a friend of her Grandma June’s, someone she didn’t know; the important thing to the child was that Grandma June had come to her game. But Neal was bothered by the sad tinge to June’s smile. “Your granddaughter doesn’t look sick,” he commented softly.

“Not today.” June paused, not wanting to add to Neal’s personal worries, but he was here and concerned, and being a good friend. _Such a bright, sweet young man… so much like Byron was in so many ways… he deserves better than he’s received._ “Samantha was taken off the donors’ list… last week.”

Neal was instantly concerned. June was like family to him, and he wanted to banish the fear and helplessness in her eyes. “What can I do?” he asked without hesitation.

June looked at him in surprise, feeling a sudden hope. If Neal was offering… maybe there was something he could do… “About the transplant list, not much, I’m afraid. But… there was a woman who approached me a few days ago. She claimed she was from a charity called ‘Hearts Wide Open’, an independent search for organ and tissue donors outside of the national donor registry.”

“Something about her made you suspicious?” Neal asked, already feeling the knot in his gut that told him trouble was coming.

“She was kind enough, talking about how Samantha was young enough to deserve every chance at finding a donor and they were happy to help people in our situation… that they watched the UNOS lists carefully for situations like hers. But then she said that people who accept the charity’s services are also usually kind enough to make a donation to help the charity in their work.” June’s lips compressed into a small line of anger. “She said that they typical minimum donation is one hundred thousand dollars.”

Neal’s eyes went wide and alarms started ringing in his head. “A hundred grand,” he echoed. “They wanted at least a hundred thousand dollars for helping Samantha.”

“Now I’m not some batty old lady who instantly opens her checkbook,” June continued, a trace of anger in her tone. “But I’ve known ‘bad boys’, as you put it, all my life. This has all the earmarks of a scheme, preying on people at their most desperate.”

“I agree,” Neal told her, reaching out to take her hand. “I’ll have Peter look into it immediately. Don’t worry about anything.”

June smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You are so like Byron,” she told him softly.

Returning her smile as her hand fell away, Neal returned his gaze to the game. Samantha was scoring again. A bright, energetic little girl who needed help, not to be used as a pawn in what was practically extortion. The very thought made Neal angry. Furious. Never in his entire career had he been willing to pull a scheme that targeted anyone in such desperate straits. And while it was true that June was certainly not foolish or naïve enough to fall for it, others were, or were desperate enough not to care that it was a scam and gave the money anyway, clinging only to the slim hope that was being offered.

_Peter can fix this… Peter can investigate these bastards… I can tell him tomorrow…_

Almost without realizing it, Neal was formulating his plan of attack. A plan that included getting Peter to forget all about wanting time apart.

* * *

_“Electronic Monitoring Compliance Unit.”_

“Good morning! This is Neal Caffrey: detention tracking anklet number 9305-Alpha.”

There was a startled stutter on the other end of the line. Neal couldn’t help smiling. _“Uh… can I help you, Mr. Caffrey?”_

“Yeah, listen: I’m in Diamond Cab Medallion number 835D-47, and I’m going to cross my radius in about five minutes. I’m on my way to Agent Peter Burke’s house to meet with him before he goes into the office today; some urgent information came my way on an important case early this morning. Just thought I’d let you guys know so you didn’t sound the alarms for no reason.”

_“Mr. Caffrey, I… don’t think…”_

“Hey, I know.” Neal let his voice drop into its seductive, persuasive timbre. “I’m a convicted felon and you’ve got a job to do. I’m not looking to have you guys send an alert out needlessly, let alone wasting the time of a team of Marshalls who have more important things to do. Contact Diamond Cab; confirm the fare. I’m only going for a short meeting, and then I’m taking the same cab right back into my radius. If I deviate at all, you can send up the flares and loose the hounds.”

A short pause, and then another voice on the line. Still female, but more strident. Probably a supervisor. _“You couldn’t deliver this information over the phone, Mr. Caffrey?”_

“There are some things that have to be discussed in person. I’m sure you understand that.” Neal crossed his fingers.

_“All right, Mr. Caffrey. We’ve verified the fare with the cab company and you’re on monitoring only status for now. But we will send response teams immediately if there are any deviations or unnecessary stops.”_

“Thank you. I really appreciate this.” Neal hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn’t a card he could pull often; he knew it wouldn’t work all the time. But knowing he could talk the Marshalls into trusting him… as long as they could verify his information…

Talking the cabbie into staying until he returned and driving him back to Manhattan was going to cost him a substantial tip, but Neal figured the price was worth it. Encasing himself in his brightest devil-may-care exterior, he located the hide-a-key in the landscaping around the front of the house and let himself in.

Both Burkes stared at him in astonishment as he entered. Peter hadn’t been expecting Neal at all. Elizabeth had tried to get Neal to come for dinner, to talk things out with Peter, but Neal had demurred on the grounds that Peter wouldn’t want him there and wasn’t ready to talk yet. That he should show up unannounced had taken both of them off guard. Elizabeth found her voice first. “Morning! Neal…”

“Hope you don’t mind: let myself in.” Walking over and sitting across from Peter, Neal tried not to let any of his nervousness show through. _I’m here for June… I’m here on a case… why does it feel like years since I’ve been anywhere near Peter? I see him every day…_

“I mind,” Peter rasped. The sight of Neal in this house, just strolling in as if it were his home, had Peter off-balance. He wasn’t ready for this yet; wasn’t ready to let Neal in again. He looked almost accusingly at Elizabeth, who quickly shrugged and took a sip of her tea, her expression plainly communicating that Neal’s sudden appearance wasn’t at her orchestration.

There was an awkward silence. Neal didn’t want to just dive in about June, but he couldn’t lay all his cards on the table with Peter, either. It wasn’t time for that yet. “You guys having breakfast?” _Oh, yeah… smooth, Caffrey. Ask the idiotically obvious question._

“Yeah, we’re having breakfast, yeah.” Peter’s voice was icy sarcasm. He didn’t want Neal here. Didn’t want this casual inclusion of Neal in his marriage. He needed to protect El from the heartbreak he knew would follow when Neal eventually left them. Peter wasn’t ready to let Neal back in yet. “It’s a crazy ritual I’m sorta fond of; you wanna know why?”

“Cause you love the free toys?” Neal reached for the cereal box, trying to ignore what he knew was coming anyway. _Don’t, Peter… don’t drive the knife deeper… don’t tell me you don’t want me here because deep down I know you do… you said you wanted time, not to break things off… you can’t have decided to end this without talking to me…_

“Because breakfast doesn’t involve you!” Peter was lashing out. Knew he was doing it and didn’t care. Neal was going to leave him, in the end. What could he say that would hurt Neal more than that knowledge hurt Peter? “See, every morning I sit at my dining table with my lovely wife and my delicious cereal and no thoughts of Neal Caffrey.”

Choosing to completely ignore Peter’s words, Neal peered into the cereal box and then reached inside. “Says there’s a free sheriff’s badge in here; you get it already?”

Unable to believe his words were having no effect, Peter looked to Elizabeth for help. “El, do something.”

 _Oh, no, Peter… rule five means I’m staying out of this one._ Blandly, Elizabeth picked up a clean bowl and set it on Neal’s placemat. “Do you want a bowl with that cereal?” she asked mildly.

“Thank you! Manners…” As he withdrew the sheriff’s badge and set the cereal box aside, Neal shot Peter a look that said he wasn’t impressed by Peter’s attempt to get Elizabeth to act as his reinforcements. _She already told us she won’t, Peter… she’s not going to help you get rid of me. You want me gone, you’ll have to tell me yourself._

“That’s not what I had in mind,” Peter complained to Elizabeth softly. He’d hoped that Elizabeth would suspend the rules since his affair with Neal had been suspended. She certainly had when it came to Neal coming over to the house. But her expression informed him that he was on his own for this one. Finally, he turned to Neal, who was examining the sheriff’s badge with an almost childlike grin. “Why are you here?” he demanded.

 _All right then… no more foreplay._ Neal crossed his arms in front of him on the table, his expression serious, challenging. “I’m here because of June.”

Peter wasn’t expecting that answer. “June owns the house Neal lives in,” he told Elizabeth, not sure whether or not she would need clarification.

“I know who June is,” Elizabeth assured him softly, sipping her tea and turning her attention to Neal again.

“Her granddaughter needs a kidney, but she was bumped from the transplant list last week.” Neal was gratified to see that Elizabeth’s expression become promptly sympathetic, and Peter’s face became even more grave. No matter what was going on between he and Peter, this was important, and he knew Peter was grateful to June for the hospitality she afforded Neal regardless of his initial reservations.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Neal admitted. “But a few days ago, a woman approached June and said her organization could help find a kidney for her granddaughter.”

“A lot of charities do that,” Peter replied slowly, not seeing the urgency.

“Yeah, but she asked for a donation: of a hundred thousand dollars.”

That got Peter’s attention just as fast as it had gotten Neal’s. Neal had known it would. “A hundred grand,” Peter echoed. “Look at you: bringing me a case.”

There was a strange note of pride in Peter’s voice. Neal relaxed back in his chair and pinned his plastic sheriff’s badge to the left breast pocket of his blazer. “Well, that’s what us lawmen do.” A laugh escaped Peter at that bit of outrageousness, and Neal felt a surge of triumph. _That’s it, Peter… remember that I’m funny, and I’m smart… remember that I’m good in bed and you like seeing me naked… remember that we can’t dance around this forever…_

Peter covered the laugh by finishing his coffee. “All right: I’m interested. Talk to June; get me specifics.”

“So I can run with it?” Neal pressed. He wanted to know Peter still trusted him… needed to know how much ground they had to rebuild…

“Run with it?” Peter echoed again. “No, Barney Fife. No: you can walk. Very slowly. As long as you don’t interrupt my breakfast again.”

Neal felt himself bristle at that little jab. _Interrupt? Oh, I’ll interrupt all right, Peter… next time we’re having breakfast in a private setting, I’m going to show you some tricks that’ll interrupt your ability to string two words together… and I might even give pointers to El…_ “Gotcha.” With a glance to Elizabeth, who was grinning impishly into her cup of tea, he stood up from the table. “Enjoy your meal.”

Elizabeth was trying not to laugh. It was obvious to her that Neal had grown tired of the separation Peter had forced between them and was taking the opportunity to do something about it. _Good for you, Neal… just hope Peter doesn’t fight you too hard… he’s been miserable without you._

“Uh, Neal?” The way Neal stopped and turned automatically at the sound of his voice… Peter almost forgot what he was going to say… it was too reminiscent of how responsive Neal was when they were alone. “Remember: that’s not real,” he managed, pointing to the badge pinned to Neal’s blazer.

Neal glanced down, chuckled sarcastically, but didn’t dignify the comment with a response. _The badge might not be, Peter… but this thing between us is… and I’m going to break down the wall you’ve put between us if it’s the last thing I do._ Turning without a word, Neal left the house, replaced the spare key in its hiding place and got back into his cab. He now had a lot of work to do.

* * *

“Those were his words?” Moz asked skeptically. “ ‘Run with it’?”

“More or less,” Neal replied, fussing with his tie tack. His image had to be flawless… it always had to be flawless in his cons… and ferreting out information for a case was really no different.

“I’m assuming less.” Moz didn’t like this; not one bit. It felt reactionary, as if Neal was throwing himself into this investigation to get his mind off Kate and the suit and whatever had happened that had left Neal in such a funk in the last week.

“Peter told me to get specifics,” Neal said defensively as he buttoned the blazer. “Can’t do that until I meet the charity’s representative, which is why I’ve set up a face-to-face as June’s financial advisor.”

“Who’s the representative?”

“Melissa Calloway.” Neal couldn’t help fussing with the lines of his suit… he was putting on another persona, another skin, and it needed to be perfect. “Charity’s called Hearts Wide Open.”

 _Of course… it had to be a woman. This’ll be a piece of cake for Neal; women are putty in his hands. Always have been._ “That is truly menacing,” Moz commented with a shiver. “If I made a horror movie, I would definitely call it ‘Hearts Wide Open’.”

Ignoring that comment even though Neal felt the same way about the name, Neal flipped on his television and switched to the channel where he could see the security cameras. He was glad that June had included such a capacity in her security system set-up. It had pre-dated his arrival, but it made him feel much safer. A car pulled up and Neal watched the woman June had described get out. “Right on time.”

Moz joined him, watching the corner of the screen Neal focused on. “Already I don’t trust this woman.”

“Because she drove here?” This was a brand of Moz’s suspicion he hadn’t encountered before.

“A New Yorker that doesn’t take the subway is not a New Yorker you can trust,” Moz advised sagely.

“I don’t take the subway,” Neal reminded him.

“Precisely.”

Neal smiled briefly, acknowledging the sad truth behind the statement as he returned to watching the monitor. Moz was his oldest friend, but real trust was impossible between them. _Only one person I can really trust in my life… I’m going to get you back, Peter… I’m not willing to let you go._ Almost in response to his thoughts, Neal felt the shift of the ring against his heart. He still wore Peter’s ten-year-commemorative-pin ring on the chain around his neck; he would never take it off, not even for Kate. _Think about it later, Caffrey… concentrate on your job…_

Melissa Calloway locked her briefcase inside her car and Neal silently cursed. He needed an opportunity to see what was inside, but if she didn’t bring it to the meeting… “She left her briefcase in the back,” he mused out loud, thinking… Moz moved in his peripheral vision and a plan formed. “All right, Moz: I need a favor. Break into her car.”

“That’s not so much a favor as a truly _horrible_ idea,” Moz protested immediately. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon. There’s a reason most crimes happen at night: people can’t see you!”

“All right, fine, fine!” There wasn’t enough time to argue and Neal wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’ll do it.”

“Uh, you have a meeting,” Moz reminded him sarcastically.

“No,” Neal said slyly, thinking on his feet. “ _You_ have a meeting.” When Moz looked at him like he’d lost his mind, Neal lost patience with Moz’s continued arguments. They weren’t helpful and every second counted. “This is for June, remember?”

Moz’s resistance drained out of him. He liked June; she liked _**Tiles of Fire**_ and was taking good care of Neal and didn’t mind at all that Moz showed up at all hours. Like the suit’s wife, June didn’t seem to mind his more awkward manners and made a point to be friendly, even if for no other reason than he was a friend of Neal’s. “I need a tie,” he conceded.

Neal ran to the bedroom to fetch the one he’d discarded as a possible choice. “Ask about the charity,” he instructed quickly. “How it works; especially how the money works. Buy me twenty minutes.”

“Since when am I a people person?” Moz demanded to know. _I can’t do this… there’s a reason Neal is the front man for these kinds of things…_

“Just do what I’d do,” he replied calmly. Ignoring Moz’s sarcastic echo, Neal then exited the rooms and all but ran to find June before her visitor could be escorted in. “Change of plans,” he told her quickly. “Moz is going to handle the meeting. Don’t worry; it’ll be just fine,” he said before she could protest. “There’s something I need to take care of and I don’t have time to explain. Just go with me on this.”

Uncertain of the choice Neal was making, June still had no choice but to agree. “All right… whatever you say, dear. I trust you.”

Almost bowled over by the words, Neal turned and slipped out of the house as June went to greet Melissa. _Not now… don’t think about it now, Caffrey… just do what needs doing and worry about it later._ Walking calmly down the street, as if he belonged here, Neal found the car that he’d seen on the security camera and walked around to the driver’s side before removing his kit. Carefully selecting a tool, he pocketed the rest and turned to set about picking the door lock.

Focused on his objective, Neal almost missed the beat cop walking up behind him.


	2. Vital Signs Redux - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for complete notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

It was a close thing: getting the police to believe Neal was a prosecutor who was just having a bad morning, especially when they asked the name of the officer whose assailant he was arraigning; getting the briefcase open and snapping photos of the documents inside with his untraceable phone when the officers were expecting him to be heading for the courthouse that he was allegedly due at in twenty minutes. And then getting the call from Moz… Neal hated having to scramble… memorizing the invitation to the tennis tournament, Neal somehow found a way to replace everything, lock the car and stroll right past Melissa as she rounded the corner from the entrance to the mansion. She never even looked up at him.

June was waiting for him in the hall. “That could have gone more smoothly,” she observed. “I saw what you were doing outside; what was so important that your friend couldn’t have done it?”

Neal hesitated, but June wasn’t happy and he could guess why. “It was a no-win situation, June. Either Moz handled Melissa or he handled the police. There wasn’t a lot of time to make a decision. I’m sorry if he did something to embarrass you.”

His apology smoothed some of June’s ruffled feathers. “He overacts his part, dear. That’s all. I suppose it’s not really his fault. Did you find something useful?”

Smiling broadly, Neal fingered the phone in his pocket. “Oh, yeah. Peter’s going to love it. But first I should let Moz know everything’s okay.”

“I’ll have Maria whip you boys up something for an afternoon snack,” June advised, letting Neal know that all was forgiven. “Just… next time, give me a little more warning before you make a substitution?”

The idea that something like this would be happening often, and that June was a willing conspiratress, made Neal laugh out loud. “You’ve got it, June.”

* * *

When Neal finally arrived at the office, Peter met him at the elevator. “Looked into Hearts Wide Open,” he told Neal, his tone all business. It was the same tone that Peter had been using since the Friday before last, the day after he’d asked Neal for a break in their sexual relationship. Neal hated that tone. “Your friend Melissa works for the charity’s founder: Dr. Wayne Powell. Runs a number of high-end medical clinics along the East Coast; very _respectable_ kinda guy.”

Neal didn’t miss the disbelieving emphasis in Peter’s description. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure… I talked to Melissa.” Peter spun around, and Neal had to fight down the urge to calm the anger in those eyes by putting a hand on his chest… right over his heart… “I got some names.”

“Are they admissible?” Peter demanded. When Neal shook his head, it just made Peter angrier. _He’s taking risks again… stupid, dangerous risks without telling me and without me there and he’s going to get himself killed and then what the Hell am I going to do?!_ “Let me tell you a story,” Peter ground out, trying desperately to keep his voice even.

“That’s really not necessary.” Neal almost cringed, not wanting an object lesson from an angry Peter… at least, not one that didn’t involve nakedness and the privacy of their bedroom… _Whoa… when did I develop that kink? I’ve really got to get Peter back in bed before my fantasies start getting the better of me…_

“I had a C.I. once,” Peter said, forging ahead with the story despite Neal’s protest. “Local kid named Jimmy Burger. Raised some money and opened a restaurant on Fifth.”

“Let me guess: he called it ‘Jimmy’s Burgers’.” _Come on, Peter… laugh… just one snicker…_

“No.”

“Burger Joint?” Neal asked hopefully.

“You done?” Peter snapped. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes; Neal needed to get the point. “In order to stay in business, he had to do the Mob some favors. But Jimmy didn’t like that, so he came to us. He helped us make some cases, but then Jimmy got cocky… started sticking his nose where it didn’t belong… you know what happened?”

“It didn’t end happily-ever-after?” _Of course it wouldn’t… Peter wouldn’t tell a story like that… wouldn’t give me a happily-ever-after if I asked him for one…_

“No; he took one… right there.” Peter pressed his right index finger gently but firmly into Neal’s forehead, right in the center. It was the first time he’d touched Neal since that Thursday night… the warmth of Neal’s skin, even that tiny portion of it, sent shocks up Peter’s arm and had his entire body clamoring for more. Desperately tamping it down, Peter removed the finger just as slowly. _Get a hold of yourself, Burke… get a grip on it…_

Neal tried not to shake from the force of his own reaction. Peter’s touch was like a lightening strike, the gentleness a stark contrast to the brutality of the story and the fierceness of his tone… “Why are you telling me this?” Neal asked, trying to keep his own impulses under control.

“Because Jimmy Burger is an example of what happens why you try running the show on your own.” Peter couldn’t seem to shake the fear that was clutching at him, driving his anger. Neal took too many risks… and Peter couldn’t protect him all the time… “Don’t,” he ordered as he turned away, his voice low and throbbing with warnings motivated by emotions he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

“Hey, Neal!” Jones walked over to him with a folder. “Here’s the info on those names you asked me to check out.”

“Unbelievable!” Peter wasn’t sure what made him angrier: the fact that Neal was doing exactly what Peter had just warned him not to do or the fact that he was doing it by calling in Peter’s team to do the legwork instead of giving the information to Peter first. “It’s like talking to a wall.”

“I hadn’t heard your story yet!” Neal didn’t like being on the defensive with Peter, didn’t want Peter in a confrontational mood. He wanted Peter aroused, protective in a way that made him want to seduce Neal instead of throttle him.

Resigning himself to the reality of that statement, Peter just stepped closer behind Neal as Neal opened the folder. “Let me see.”

Glancing over the page, Neal wasn’t sure he liked the common factor between all of the names. “They’re all with Doctoral Global Initiative,” Neal murmured. The warm solid presence of Peter’s body behind his was slightly distracting… he could smell Peter’s aftershave… the curve of his shoulder was pressed into the hollow of Peter’s and Peter hadn’t backed away… Neal wanted to lean closer… to feel those arms wrap around him… wanted to be safe again… “If Powells’ charity is supplying organs, maybe this is how he finds them.” Neal turned his head so he could see Peter’s face… their mouths were inches apart… Neal hadn’t been this close to Peter since that last kiss…

“Interesting,” Peter mused, focusing on the page and not the mouth that was far too close for his composure to withstand… if he focused on that mouth, the entire office would see the result and that wouldn’t be good… “Using the third world as your own organ bank… still… it’s too circumstantial to make a case. Let’s talk to Powell.”

“Well, I know where to find him.” Neal looked up at Peter again, satisfaction that he’d found so much useful information melting under that icy stare. _Okay… progress on the touching… not so much on the other stuff… but it’s still progress._

“What else did you find?” Peter asked stiffly.

“A tennis tournament.” Neal followed as Peter turned on his heels and walked into his office. “It’s being hosted by Powell’s Howser Clinic at the West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills.”

“And how do you propose we get in to see Dr. Powell?” Peter asked, a touch of acid in his tone. “Had a chance to brush up on your tennis game since you got out of prison?”

The word made Neal recoil stiffly, his own eyes flashing with anger. “No. But we can talk our way around playing. If we pose as doctors with DGI, _both of us_ , then we might be able to pick up more information that we can legally use… I didn’t actually meet face-to-face with Melissa, so she won’t recognize me… and maybe one of us even gets lucky enough to talk to Powell himself.”

Peter hated himself for throwing prison back in Neal’s face. It had been an underhanded move and he knew it. But Neal leaning into his shoulder there in the hallway had nearly undone Peter’s self-control, and public displays of affection were frowned on by the Bureau even when it wouldn’t matter who you were sharing them with… and it would matter a great deal that he was sharing them with Neal Caffrey… taking a deep breath, Peter forced himself to back down, sitting in his chair as a sign of submission. “Sorry… shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Neal told him softly. “You shouldn’t.” _He’s sorry… he wasn’t happy about asking for a break… I know that… I shouldn’t be so angry with him… but damn it, I need him…_ “It’s tomorrow at three… we’ve got time.” Peter nodded, and Neal decided to let him off the hook. “Did I mention that tie really doesn’t go with that outfit?”

“My wife gave me this tie,” Peter protested, looking up at him. The sparkle of mischief in Neal’s eyes nearly undid him again. “It’s a nice tie.”

“Yeah… just not with that suit.” Neal’s smile curved wickedly. “Yellow’s a hard color to match, really… you should let me take you shopping; we’ll bring the tie along and find something to match it.”

“I can’t afford the places you like to shop,” Peter countered. _Oh, Neal… don’t… don’t tempt me like this… I need more time…_

One eyebrow quirked. “You keep talking about the risks I’m taking on our cases,” Neal said, his tone deceptively mild. “What makes you think I wouldn’t brave the inside of a medium-grade department store for _you_?”

Peter’s breath caught in his lungs. That shouldn’t have sounded sexual. Shouldn’t have sounded as tender and loving as it did. But Peter’s entire body thrummed to life at the words and he very nearly cast all caution to the wind. “I’ll remember that next time you complain about my suits,” he managed, his voice not at all as steady as he wanted. “You should go home, though… it’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

Neal shrugged nonchalantly; the leap of flame in Peter’s russet eyes had been there. Peter had smothered it, but he couldn’t hide it completely. “Pick me up for lunch? Wearing something casual?” When Peter nodded, obviously not trusting his voice, Neal called a cab from his cell phone to take him back to June’s.

His eyes didn’t leave Peter’s until the cab company called to say that the cabbie was outside waiting for him.

* * *

The West Side Tennis Club was exactly as posh as Peter might have expected. Exactly the sort of place that Neal blended into perfectly, while Peter might as well have had a neon sign over his head that flashed: Does Not Belong Here. And yet here they were, both about to pose as doctors and try to fit in with the tennis club set. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” Peter grumbled as they exited the car, handing the keys to the valet.

“Because you know it’s the best lead we’ve got, Lauren’s on vacation and Jones wouldn’t fit in here, as stupid as that is.” Neal took a half-step lead as they entered, unconsciously taking point. Peter had been good as the CEO of Rhymer Pharmaceuticals, but this was a different ball game.

 _I hate it when he’s right… he’s right way too often…_ “All right, scan the crowd,” Peter instructed softly. “Powell’s got to be in there somewhere.”

A club employee stopped them before they could go much further than the main foyer. “Invite only, gentlemen.”

Expecting that, Neal instantly pulled an expression of chagrin and started searching his pockets. “Oh… I left mine at home.”

“Sorry,” the employee replied, not sounding the least bit so. “Then you’re gonna have to go home and get it.”

The brusque rudeness brought Neal up short. He didn’t like being shut down before he even had a chance to start. “O-kay.” He turned and walked a few steps back, Peter on his heels.

Knowing they couldn’t leave, Peter had to stop Neal by reaching up to take his elbow. The immediacy of Neal’s response shot straight to areas that Peter did not need stimulated just now. “Wait… that was your plan? You didn’t forge an invitation?”

“I was allowed to?” Neal replied, only half-sarcastically. Peter didn’t catch the sarcasm, responding only with a short, emphatic ‘no’. Neal cast his eyes around the room, looking for someone that might make a good mark… and then he spotted a familiar face. “Wait, that’s her.” Stepping past Peter before he could ask who, Neal walked up to Melissa. “Excuse me? Hi… I seem to have forgotten my invitation.”

Melissa didn’t seem even the slightest bit boggled by his looks. It almost threw him off his game. “And you are?”

“Dr. Parker,” Neal replied, letting a little more charm seep into his voice and leaning just a fraction closer. He was intensely glad that he hadn’t taken the meeting yesterday after all. “From Doctoral Global Initiative? But… you can call me Leonard. You are?”

No amount of charm was going to cut the icy barrier that came over her face as Melissa slowly gave his outstretched hand a businesslike shake. “Ms. Calloway,” she replied, using formality to put more distance between them. “Remember your invitation next time, Doctor… have a good afternoon.”

Watching Neal Caffrey crash and burn with a woman was a rare sight, but Peter didn’t want to let it linger any longer than necessary. Coming up behind Neal as Melissa turned away, he made a quick gesture urging him to walk away. _We’ll find another way to make contact._ “Come on.”

The sound of his voice caught Melissa’s attention, and her head shot up when she caught sight of Peter, turning to face them. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, drawing their attention to her. “And you are?”

Neal quickly grasped the light of interest on her face. _So… just like me and El, she has a thing for strong jaws and serious brown eyes…_ “Edgar Tannenbaum,” Neal introduced before Peter could get more than the word ‘Doctor’ out. “He’s from DGI as well.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” This time, it was Melissa extending her hand; she couldn’t tear her eyes from Peter’s face. “I’m Melissa.”

“Nice to meet you, Melissa,” Peter replied with plain sincerity, shaking her hand. He recognized her interest, playing into it more subtly than Neal would. He was never sure what to do when someone other than Neal or Elizabeth expressed an interest; especially not when he couldn’t just say ‘I’m married’.

“What is your area of expertise, Doctor?” Melissa replied, withdrawing her hand much more slowly than she had with Neal.

“Chiropractics,” Peter replied slowly. He’d needed to see a chiropractor a few times in his life; he was reasonably sure he could fake his way through discussing that specialty if necessary. He tried to ignore the almost incredulous look that Neal was shooting at him from the corners of those bright blue eyes…

“You’re a chiropractor?” Melissa sounded as surprised as Neal looked. “And you work with DGI?”

“Poor posture doesn’t discriminate,” Neal interjected quickly. _Good going, Peter… really good… next time we go undercover together, I’m writing him a damn script… chiropractor… seriously?_

“We may still have a few slots available,” Melissa said after a moment’s consideration. “You boys willing to get your hands dirty?” Both men made short assertions in the affirmative, and Melissa stepped past them. “Then follow me.”

Neal took the moment and gave Peter the full-blown expression of utter disbelief that had been threatening through the entire conversation. “You underestimate me,” Peter said with a shrug. “I keep trying to get you to stop doing that.”

The reminder of their last conversation about underestimating Peter, which had happened when they were both naked right before Peter had called a time-out on their affair, made Neal’s blood flush hot in his veins. Almost in revenge, he came up behind Peter as they followed Melissa past the attendant and slung his right arm around Peter’s shoulders, causing Peter to stop for a moment. “You do realize you have to flirt with her for the rest of the day, right?” When he saw comprehension dawn on Peter’s face, Neal couldn’t resist slinging another barb. “Should be a fun story to tell Elizabeth over breakfast tomorrow.” Giving Peter a soft clap on the shoulder, Neal released him and followed Melissa.

It took Peter a moment to shake off the sudden, potent need to grab Neal, haul him off into an empty room somewhere and kiss that smart mouth until Neal saw stars. _Not now, Burke… not yet…_ Neal wasn’t more than a few steps ahead, and Peter caught up with him as they exited the clubhouse and stepped into the pool area. “There’s Powell by the bar… see if you can get close to him.”

“You’ll have to pry your _girlfriend_ off his arm first.” Neal couldn’t help the pettishness of that statement. Peter belonged to he and Elizabeth… at least until the four years with the Bureau was over and Peter would let him go… _Is this a trial run… this break? Is he trying to see if I’ll let go when he finally tells me its over?_

“You know: any schlub can pick up a girl at a bar,” Peter replied testily as they made their way through the crowd. “You want a challenge? Try keeping a beautiful woman happy for ten years running.”

“How long has it been?” Neal asked, trying to ignore the way that statement left him out. _What if this really isn’t something that can outlast the four years I’m chained to his side? And if I can’t trust Kate… then where does that leave me?_

“Summer of ’98,” Peter replied, knowing that Neal was talking about the last time he’d actively tried his hand at the dating scene.

Neal stopped and put his hand on Peter’s chest. “Whoa, whoa, whoa… you haven’t flirted in the twenty-first century?” _Because you certainly don’t flirt with me… not really…_

Peter had to think for a moment. There was a difference, in his mind, between flirting with an available single and engaging in innuendo-laced repartee with a lover like Neal and Elizabeth. “No,” he finally replied. Neal didn’t look pleased about that at all, and Peter changed the subject before Neal could start giving him pointers. “All right, listen: when you talk to Powell, tell him you’re with Doctoral Global Initiative. See how he reacts.”

“Copy that, Tannenbaum.” Neal watched with no small amount of envy as Peter walked over and caught Melissa’s attention. _It’s not fair… the first time I’ve been in a relaxed setting with him since that damned graveyard, and he has to focus his attention on that red-haired viper… bad enough that I’m sort of jealous of El for having Peter all to herself this week, but now? Now I have to chat up the male doctor while Peter gets to have a one-on-one with the girl? When did I step into the Twilight Zone?_

Forcing the green-eyed monster, Neal stepped over to the bar and was grateful that he wasn’t required to abstain from alcohol on the job like Peter was. “Scotch on the rocks, please… actually, you know what? Hold the rocks. I just got off a thirty-hour flight. The sooner I forget it, the better.”

“There’s a trick to that, you know?” Powell said almost absently, turning to lean his back against the bar. “Sleeping pills.”

“Meh, it never works,” Neal replied, playing off the other man easily. “Too wound up.”

“The trick is not taking on the plane,” Powell suggested, turning back around, “but taking it in the car on the way to the airport.”

“Thanks for the advice, Doctor?”

“Powell.”

Neal put on an expression of suitable awe. “Powell? Dr. Wayne Powell?” When Powell nodded his acknowledgement, Neal laughed. “You’re one of my heroes. Leonard Parker, Doctoral Global Initiative.”

Powell shook Neal’s outstretched hand warmly. “DGI? Well, may I say that you’re one of my heroes. Doctoral Global Initiative is one of the few charitable organizations I still respect.”

“Is that why you founded Hearts Wide Open?” Neal asked. His eyes kept darting towards the path where Melissa had lead Peter away. Where had she taken him?

“One of the reasons,” Powell said, obviously hedging. Neal could see this man wasn’t an accomplished liar. He also took careful note that Powell wasn’t ordering anything alcoholic; in fact, all he ordered was cranberry juice. There were a number of possible reasons, but Neal was certain there was something to it. “You know, perhaps you can help me. I’ve got what you’d call a… a friend in need. See, his remaining kidney is highly sensitized; PRA is through the roof. What he needs is a zero-mismatch.”

“Perfect compatibility is rare,” Neal replied, guessing easily that was what the medical jargon meant. _Where the Hell are you, Peter? And why hasn’t Melissa come back yet? You’re not supposed to flirt this well with anyone but me and Elizabeth!_

“I’m hopeful,” Powell was saying. “There’s a village on the outskirts of Manipur: genetics of the population show some promise.”

“India? I travel there often.” Neal was struggling to maintain a straight face, his focus split on the man in front of him and the path down from the club. _Damn it, Burke! I’m doing all the work here; where are you?_ “It’s unfortunate the locals can’t legally sell you what you need. Both parties would win.”

Powell’s smile was careful. “My friend would agree with you. Tell you what: why don’t you give me a, uh… call whenever you find yourself there?” Powell suggested, removing a business card from his jacket and handing it to Neal. “We make exceptionally charitable donations.” With a much warmer smile, Powell walked away.

Neal was almost shaking in the aftermath and took a gulp of his Scotch to steady his nerves. He knew… _knew_ that Powell had set up Hearts Wide Open to search for organs for this ‘friend in need’… no matter what good he might have intended, no matter what good he might do for others in exchange for the exorbitant donations he requested, Powell had set up this entire scam to prey on people who were as desperate as his friend was. _I have **never** been what that man is… no matter what I’ve done, I’ve never stooped to that level… and Peter had better recognize that…_

_Now where the Hell did that red-headed siren drag him off to? And how much trouble do I need to get him out of?_

Turning to the bartender, Neal decided to take the simplest route. “My guest today decided to volunteer his services; I think Dr. Powell’s assistant was showing him around.”

“Doctors attending to the participants have a med tent around front,” the bartender replied. “White pavilion type; can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” Neal fought down the urge to sprint through the foyer, electing to follow the path around the building in order to avoid Melissa or Dr. Powell… not to mention the extremely rude club employee…

Coming across the lawn, Neal was stunned out of his stride to see Melissa exiting the tent, pulling her long-sleeved jacket back over a dress with no back to the bodice, no sleeves and definitely nowhere to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Peter was coming out a step behind her, looking guilty… _Guilty? Guilty for what? What the Hell did you do, Peter?_

Peter saw the confused, angry, almost betrayed look on Neal’s face and just shrugged, shaking his head. _Not here, Neal… we’ve got a long day ahead and I really don’t want to talk about it here…_ He fell into step behind Melissa, leaving Neal standing on the lawn in total confusion.

It didn’t take more than twenty minutes for Neal to find a way to drag Peter into an empty room at the tennis club and hiss furiously: “Exactly what were you doing with her that took so long? And why was she getting dressed when she left that tent?”

The sudden snap of jealousy surprised Peter. Irritation that Peter was the one Melissa had favored, he could understand. But jealousy? From Neal? “Does it matter so much to you? I probably didn’t do anything more than you would have done. And I seem to recall a pair of beautiful French women that you somehow talked into taking both of us back to their hotel room that wanted to do a lot more than dance with us.”

“Damn it, Peter.” Neal tried to control how he was reacting; he didn’t like putting his emotions on display for Peter like this. But he couldn’t help it. “I wouldn’t have half-seduced her in an open pavilion tent.”

“And I didn’t, either,” Peter advised him calmly. “She made the offer; I refused it. You’re not the only one who can turn heads, Neal Caffrey. On occasion, even slumps like me get noticed. I wasn’t playing doctor; you could barely say I gave her a back rub.” He watched Neal flush, flustered and angry. It was adorable. “It’s interesting that you thought I’d do more, given the opportunity.”

“I’m just thinking of Elizabeth,” Neal snapped. “She’d be heartbroken if she found out you’d seduced another woman; how she tolerates what we were doing, I’ll never be sure.”

 _So that’s what has him upset… but how much can I even read into that? How can I be sure if it means anything other than I’m a favorite pass-time that he’s being forced to give up?_ Reaching up, Peter ran a slow thumb over Neal’s lower lip. “She’s a means to an end, sweetheart… nothing more.” He watched Neal’s eyes half-close, those soft lips parting under the pressure of his thumb… it would be so easy to kiss Neal now… to pull down the wall Peter himself had foolishly erected between them…

 _No… I can’t do this… I can’t let him back in yet…_ Stroking his thumb over Neal’s lips again, Peter suppressed the urge to kiss him. Someone could be looking for them even now. “What did you find out from Powell?”

Peter’s words, softly spoken though they were, were a cold dash of reality against the warm languor that had settled over him at Peter’s touch. Neal’s eyes snapped open and he shook his head away from Peter’s hand, which fell without protest back to Peter’s side. “Quite a bit. He’s using DGI to hunt for organs in the third world, and making donations through Hearts Wide Open is a thin disguise; he’s buying the organs from the donors through the doctors, who are probably keeping most of the money for themselves.”

“Then we should make our excuses and get back to the office,” Peter concluded calmly. “If Powell’s dirty, we need as much information on him as we can get.” He saw the slash of hurt in Neal’s eyes, wanted to fix it… wanted to just forget that he’d ever decided that distance would make the loss easier to bear eventually…

Neal almost got lost in the dark embers of Peter’s eyes… it felt like forever since he’d seen that expression in them… but now wasn’t the time. They had work to do, and Neal wasn’t sure he could let Peter know that he was forgiven quite yet. “Let’s go, then.” He walked out of the room past Peter, deliberately avoiding brushing Peter’s body with his own.

* * *

By the time Neal and Peter got back to the office and Neal had time to cool off, he decided that he could see the humor in the situation after all. Peter really hadn’t done more than Neal would have if their positions had been reversed, and his bout of foolish jealousy had gotten Peter to touch him again… to call him sweetheart… it was several steps forward. And the whole time they discussed the case, Peter kept looking at him… those russet eyes smoldering… that smile playing on his lips… Definite progress on their personal front.

Finding out Powell’s friend was, in reality, Powell himself shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It was the fact that he didn’t look sick, either, Neal decided. _Just because things look all right on the surface doesn’t mean they really are… I should know that by now…_

Electing not to push his luck with Peter further tonight, Neal let Peter go back to Elizabeth alone and took a cab back to June’s. He found Moz in his suite, playing chess with himself and looking almost despondent. “Byrne versus Bobby Fischer,” he declared as he examined the board. “1956.”

“Very good,” Moz replied, his voice monotone. “Who won?”

“Fischer,” Neal replied, wondering if Moz was intending it to be a trick question. “Sacrificed his queen on move seventeen.” He looked carefully at Moz. Neal had never seen him so quiet and depressed before. “You all right?”

“The charity rescinded its offer to June’s granddaughter.”

“What?” Neal pushed back, pacing in a circle. No wonder Moz seemed so depressed… he must be partially blaming himself because of what had happened at the meeting… and June was likely sick with worry… dirty or not, the charity had been a chance… “Oh, God… they say why?”

Contempt laced Moz’s otherwise flat tone. “They say they found a more _urgent_ recipient.”

Sitting down at the table, Neal felt his vague euphoria from this afternoon dissolve completely. “And you…”

Moz nodded, his head still resting against his left hand, as if the only thing holding him upright was his left arm wedged between his face and the table top. “Yes, I scouted the clinic. Something’s got them spooked. Employees have been throwing files into the garbage all day.”

“You see what the files were?” Neal asked eagerly. Garbage was considered public domain once it was removed from private property; it was legal to grab it and use whatever they found… if Moz could get at those files…

“I couldn’t,” Moz said dully, shooting down the idea before Neal could give it voice. “It’s pretty upscale: private security everywhere.” Sighing, Moz finally pulled his left hand away from his face and looked at Neal. “Any idea what’s got them rattled?”

Neal nodded, a bad feeling setting up in his gut. “Yeah… I think I do.” He pulled out his phone, hoping his suspicions were wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prop invitation to the tennis tournament in the episode said that the event was taking place on Saturday, August 23rd. In addition to being a bit out of sync with the apparent timeline of the series, the 23rd of August was on a Saturday in 2008 and won’t be again until 2015. I’ve ignored that for the purpose of artistic license.


	3. Vital Signs Redux – Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for complete notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Pleasantly surprised that Peter had come home early enough to actually have dinner with her, Elizabeth was in a mellow mood as she sat on the couch and sorted through the laundry. Peter was upstairs changing after a shower, and something about his mood when he’d come home tonight was lighter as well. _Neal’s getting through to him… I wish I could help… but I told them both I was staying out of any fights they have, and this is something they should work out on their own, anyway… Neal has to learn how to deal with Peter as a lover, not just as an FBI agent… and the same goes for Peter dealing with Neal…_

Checking the pockets of the jacket Peter had been wearing today, Elizabeth was surprised to find a business card for a medical clinic. _Peter hasn’t mentioned any medical tests recently… and his doctor isn’t at this clinic as far as I know… is Peter…?_ “Honey?” El called, loud enough to be heard upstairs.

Peter hurried down the stairs at her call, wondering if she needed help with the laundry. “Yeah?”

“What is this?” she asked, concern etched across her face as she held up the business card.

Feeling his heart stop in his chest, Peter tried to determine what to do. Dealing with Neal’s jealousy was one thing. Elizabeth looked hurt, concerned… one wrong word and she could be crying and he really wasn’t prepared for that. “I was gonna talk to you about that,” he began slowly, sitting down on the coffee table. “That is part of an undercover job I was working… and part of the cover was that I had to talk to another woman.”

 _So this isn’t a new doctor he’s seeing… which means he didn’t tell me about it because he’s feeling guilty… oh, dear…_ Elizabeth turned the card over, looking at the handwritten phone number on the back and then showing it to Peter. “Must’ve been quite the conversationalist,” she commented solemnly, her expression still anxious.

“I had to flirt with her,” Peter admitted. _I’m just going to dig myself deeper and deeper here… why can I handle Neal and not El? Why couldn’t El just be jealous like Neal was? Why does she have to look like she’s about to cry?_ “So Neal could get closer to the target.”

 _Neal wasn’t doing the flirting this time? Oh, I have got to talk to him about this…_ “Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

Peter really didn’t know where to go with that one. “Eh… she chose me,” he admitted, trying to make it sound like it baffled him as much as it would anyone else.

“You had to seduce another woman?” Elizabeth’s eyes reflected a world of hurt… her expression now etched with pain rather than concern…

Panic flooded Peter as he watched the warning signs of tears creeping into his wife’s face. “No! No, I had… just had drinks with her.” Elizabeth’s face crumpled, and Peter desperately wished he had a jealous wife on his hands right now. A crying wife was not how he wanted to end today… “Nothing happened, El; I swear…” She pressed the card to her lips, her entire face screwed up as if she were about to…

Burst out laughing?

Peter watched as the crinkling around Elizabeth’s eyes gave her away, the slight upturn at the corners of her mouth as what sounded like the start of sobs became snickers of amusement. “Are you laughing?” Peter asked, incredulous. _Perfect… not a jealous wife, not a crying wife… just a wife who thinks the idea of me picking up another woman is high comedy. And who enjoys occasionally screwing with my head…_ “You’re laughing… you’re laughing.”

Elizabeth had to cover her mouth with her hand, trying desperately to keep her laughter under control. After everything they’d been through in their marriage, after she’d given him permission to have an affair with Neal on the side, Peter was still convinced she wouldn’t understand him having to play the role of an unfaithful husband to do his job? The whole thing struck her as hilarious. “You had to flirt?” she asked between chuckles. “You hate flirting.”

“I know,” Peter said, chagrinned. “And now I remember why.” _Because this was exactly the reaction I used to get… exactly the reaction I’d probably get from Neal or El if I tried with them…_

“What did you say to her?” El asked, still chuckling and dying of curiosity.

“I said that she looked thirsty,” Peter admitted slowly. That just brought more laughter, and Peter wanted nothing more than for this conversation never to have happened. More so than if Elizabeth had started crying. “It worked!” he insisted defensively, which of course only made Elizabeth laugh harder.

“Please tell me there’s surveillance video of this,” El asked as Peter’s untraceable phone rang. “I gotta see this!”

Peter pulled his phone out of his jeans and walked away from his giggling wife, grateful for the escape from the conversation. “Yeah.”

_“Hey, it’s me. I’m just wondering if you looked into that clinic yet.”_

“I had the Bureau put in a request for their financial records. Why?”

_“Oh, no; I’m just checking. I’m just checking; thanks. Why is Elizabeth laughing?_

“No idea,” Peter said quickly, not wanting to discuss it with Neal. “Talk to you later.” Hanging up, Peter turned and sprinted up the stairs after Elizabeth. Catching her about the waist as she was setting down the basket she’d been carrying, he pulled her in for a deep kiss to silence her laughter.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Elizabeth grinned into the kiss. “I guess that means you don’t want me getting Neal’s side of this the next time he and I have a little girl-talk about you.”

“Definitely not,” Peter mock-growled. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if the subject never came up again.”

One dark brow arched in challenge. “You might have to work very hard to distract me from wanting to know what Neal has to say about this.”

Peter’s eyes leaped into flame, answering her challenge as he pulled her into the bedroom. “I’m a hard worker,” he replied, tumbling her down to the bed.

* * *

Back at June’s, Neal walked in from the terrace with a disgusted look on his face. He should have known something like this would happen. “The FBI asked for copies of their financial records.”

“That explains it,” Moz replied, his depression slipping away. It wasn’t his fault; it was the suits’. “I’d be doctoring my books now, too.”

“We have to get into that clinic,” Neal mused, fussing with the chess pieces. “See what they’re trying to get rid of.”

“Have a plan?” Moz asked as Neal picked up a black pawn.

Neal considered for a moment, then nodded. “What movies have you got memorized?” Then, before Moz could answer, “Movies that most of the American population could identify if you were quoting it?”

“A few,” Moz replied. “ ** _Lethal Weapon One_** , **_Die Hard_** , **_Beverly Hills Cop_** …”

“ ** _Die Hard_** is perfect,” Neal replied. “It gets shown on cable more often than the others. We just need few things…”

* * *

Early the next morning, Neal wheeled a suitably unstable-looking Moz into the Howser Clinic. He’d taken a chance and made another call to the Monitoring Unit, and it was actually easier than before to convince them to just monitor and not set off alerts. Apparently, the fact that he’d told them the truth the first time had gotten noticed. _Still, best not to dip into that well too often…_

Moz did beautifully, spouting off John McClane’s lines with the perfect balance of nervousness and aggression. It thoroughly convinced the nurse at the admission desk and the security guard at the base of the stairs, and Neal being able to read the computer screen’s reflection in the wall behind the admission nurse was a huge bonus. It wasn’t long before they were past the initial barriers and walking up the stairs.

If Moz hadn’t been quite so loud when they broke character… or if they’d waited just a little longer to do so…

Time felt like it crawled as Neal and Moz skirted personnel and made their way up to Powell’s office. Neal silently berated himself when he heard the psychiatrist, Dr. Westlake, being paged to call reception; the game was given away and there wasn’t much time before everyone in the building would be searching for them. _I should really start listening to Peter about taking risks for cases… really, I should…_

Just outside Powell’s office, Neal and Moz spotted a large recycling bin filled with hastily discarded file folders. “Looks like a waste of some perfectly good files,” Moz observed, catching sight of the janitor’s coat hanging on a cleaning cart near the unattended bin.

“All right,” Neal whispered, noting that Powell’s office door was just beyond the bin Moz had sighted. “I’m going.” He slipped down the hall, quiet as a ghost, and through Powell’s office door. Fortunately for him, Powell wasn’t there already. How much time he had before someone came along, he didn’t know.

Searching the unsecured places in the office felt like a waste of time. Neal couldn’t find anything useful, and the seconds were ticking by, seconds he couldn’t afford. Someone was going to notice that he didn’t appear in Room 207 with a patient that thought he was John McClane. Someone could spot Moz taking the bin full of files outside and not disposing of them with the others. Powell could walk in at any moment, not expecting Leonard Parker to be here carefully ransacking his office. So many things could go wrong… and Neal was running out of time… even the laptop yielded nothing…

It didn’t take much to pick the locks on the briefcase that Powell had left with an unbent paperclip. Inside, Neal found what he wanted; incriminating information at last. “Here we go… every donor on here’s a major player in this city,” Neal murmured to himself, scanning the list in amazement… more seconds he couldn’t afford, but if nothing else, Neal needed to be able to repeat what he had seen to Peter… his photographic memory was better than nothing…

_“Paging Security to Dr. Powell’s office. Paging Security to Dr. Powell’s office.”_

_Fuck… out of time._ Neal snatched up a pen and scribbled a quick message about Jimmy Burger at the top of the first page. “Peter… I hope you get this.” Scrambling to the fax machine, he set the page on the feeder tray and punched in the number for the fax machine in Peter’s home. There was a chance Peter was already at the office. There was a chance that the fax at the house was disconnected… but there was a chance Peter would get it, and Neal knew it was his only chance to get out… _Come on, come on, come on… connect…_

Two orderlies burst in just as the fax began feeding through, yanking Neal away and pinning him against the wall. “Stop that fax,” the one manhandling Neal ordered the other, and then he turned a menacing look on Neal. “Don’t move.”

“I’m borrowing Dr. Powell’s fax machine,” Neal protested. The paper was yanked from the machine and the cancel button was hit; the paper had only gone a few inches through the scanner. _Let it be enough… please let it be enough… oh, God, Peter… please…_

All but wrestled into a chair, Neal managed to swipe his paper clip pick from the desk when the larger orderly turned to his partner. “Go get a restraint gurney, now.”

“There’s no need for that,” Neal protested, fear rising up to choke him. “I haven’t done anything wrong-”

“We’ll let Dr. Powell be the judge of that,” the orderly snapped as his partner left to get the gurney. “In the meantime, you don’t move a muscle.”

Trying to control his panic, Neal could only comply and secrete the paper clip pick in the folds of his right palm. He could also only hope that they wouldn’t try to search him for a wire or other recording device; his palms were sweaty enough that if he opened his fist, he might drop the pick.

Pure stubborn resistance set in when the other orderly returned with the gurney. Fighting them both to attempt to stop them from strapping him to it would be futile, but Neal steadfastly refused to answer any of their questions as they stripped him of his lab coat and glasses, then pushed him down onto the gurney and began securing the restraints around his wrists and ankles. The orderly that had manhandled him called Powell from the office phone. “Dr. Powell, we have a situation; a man broke into the clinic. He was in your office.”

Neal couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the conversation, but he could imagine Powell’s responses. He concentrated on the pin latches that secured the adjustable restraints; they would only release the pins with a key.

“He won’t say, but he has some kind of tracker on his ankle,” the orderly was saying.

_Yes… and if Peter gets that fax, he’ll use the GPS to find me… I didn’t think I’d ever actually be grateful for the damned anklet! Please, God… please let Peter have gotten that fax… even just the top of it… please…_

“And he was going through your files,” the orderly continued. “We figured you’d want to know before we involved the authorities, Dr. Powell.”

 _Yeah… that’d be interesting._ Neal fought down the urge to struggle or protest when the orderly securing him to the gurney shook his arms and legs, testing the efficacy of the restraints. Subtly, he dropped his right arm off the bed, shaking his arm… ostensibly, to test the restraint or to move it slightly on his writs… in reality, to press the pick out of his palm and into his fingers. The moment they left him alone…

“Understood.” The larger orderly hung up the phone and looked at Neal speculatively, then stepped out of the room.

Neal didn’t speak. Didn’t try to move. He clung to the hope that Peter was coming as fear reached up to swallow him whole. The orderly returned with a nurse in tow, a small kit in her hands. _Oh, God… Peter… Peter, please! Please get here… please, Peter, I don’t care if you don’t love me, I don’t care if you don’t want me, I don’t care if you throw me back in prison; just get here! Please… please… please…_

The nurse approached the bed silently, carrying a syringe and needle that looked like something out of an Eli Roth movie. Neal’s breath started coming in shallow, audible pants as fear sent his pulse racing. The needle sank into his bicep, and Neal could only watch helplessly as the nurse pushed the plunger. “This is to help you relax,” she told him quietly.

“I hope there’s something fun in there, Nurse Ratched,” Neal quipped, the only words he’d said since the orderlies had strapped him down. The three of them left the room and closed the door and Neal tried desperately to breathe through his fear as the world began to spin out of focus. _What did they give me…?_

Neal blinked repeatedly, trying to bring the world back into alignment. Everything felt fuzzy… warm… light… “Ooh… oh, boy… Light…” He tugged at his restraints to shield his eyes from the light coming through the windows, but his hands wouldn’t come up high enough. “What the…? Oh… right… should do somethin’ ‘bout that…”

It took several tries, but Neal managed to fold over enough that he could bend his mouth to his hand and take the pick in his teeth. It tasted funny, like old fillings. “M’kay… down to business… why Moz couldn’ have gotten into this mess I’ll never know… why do I always hafta get in teh messes?”

Far too many tries later, Neal had picked all four locks on his restraints. But instead of taking them off, he put the restraint on his right hand back on, prodding the latch into place but not pressing it down. “Peter’ll be here soon… soon… Peter will rescue me… he’s good at rescues… good at finding me… good at lots of things… can’ go ‘ntil he comes… save me… catch me…

“Wonder ‘f he wantsa tie me up like this…? Might let him… why would he though? Doesn’t care ‘bout me… likes my ass, though! Yup… likes my ass… miss him… miss him liking my ass… don’t like him not being around… not safe… El’s lucky… lucky lady… ♪luck be a lady tonight…♪

“Hey… that’s what… wait… no… not that one… that’s not Peter… not Kate, either… Kate didn’t like Sinatra… stupid Kate… didn’ tell me ‘bout Fowler… shoulda just tol’ me ‘bout him… knew plenty o’ guys in prison coulda arranged Fowler to dis’ppear… didn’ hafta go after my stash… didn’ hafta leave me… Peter lef’ me, too… nobody lef’ but Mozzie… poor Mozzie… not getting’ laid much lately… need to fin’ him a girl… or a guy… Peter’s my guy… yeah… no Peter for Mozzie… no Peter for Call’way neither… Peter’s mine… love Peter… love… love him… love kissin’ him…

“♪Two lovers kissed and the world stood still… still… stiiilllll…♪ Yup… world stood still firs’ time he kissed me… ♪Stillll… stillllllll…! Is nature’s way…♪”

“Oh, my God…” Peter’s voice, soft and shocked, from somewhere near the door…

 _Can’ be Peter… Peter’s not gonna come… he’s up too high… can’ reach him…_ “♪High on a…♪”

* * *

Standing at the door, frozen in place, Peter felt the fear that had been clenching around his heart since Neal’s fax had come in at the house squeeze even tighter. Neal was strapped down to a gurney, defenseless, singing his head off… well, sort of singing. He wasn’t getting through more than a few words before either his mind or his lungs deserted him. “What did they do to you?” Peter asked, though he knew Neal was in no condition to answer him. _Oh, Neal… sweetheart, what did you let them do to you?_

Focusing on the voice that sounded too real to be his imagination, Neal looked up and saw Peter standing at the door, staring in shock. “Hey, buddy!”

“Neal…” Peter glanced back out the door, hoping that Neal’s uncontrolled volume wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention to the office. _I’ve got one chance to get him out of here…_

 _My name… always says my name so… full… like he’s saying everything in just my name. Wish I could do that…_ “Hi!”

Peter closed the door and rushed around the bed, forcing his panic aside. Desperately, he pressed one of Neal’s eyes open. The pupils were dilated almost as far as they could go; Neal had been drugged, and not with something mild. It was a wonder they hadn’t simply knocked him out entirely.

 _He’s touching me… touching me again… so close… so close… love him… love him… lost him…_ “♪High on a windy hill…♪”

Frantic, needing to shush Neal before anyone could wonder at the noise or come to really knock him out, Peter placed his hands on Neal’s chest and hoped the touch would quiet him. It did, and Peter looked desperately at the restraint cuffs on Neal’s limbs. “All right… we have to get you out of these restraints,” he said, almost to himself. It wasn’t like Neal was in a state for coherent conversation.

“You mean these?” Neal flipped his arms into the air and the cuffs fell away. Peter backed up fast, startled. “What? Never met a lock I couldn’ pick… except my anklet!”

 _Thank god for small favors…_ Peter stepped back to the gurney and pulled Neal up, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “All right… come on.”

“I don’ know what it is…” Neal started as Peter hauled him up off the gurney. “You’re strong… you’re strong…” _Always strong… Peter’s always pickin’ me up… carryin’ me ‘round… stronger’n me… stronger’n Kate… my Peter… strong Peter… strong ‘nuff to save me…_

“Come on,” Peter urged. _We’ve got to get out of here… I’ve got to find a way to keep him quiet while we’re getting out; he’s higher than a kite and I’ll have to drag him as it is._

“I got it,” Neal insisted. “I got it.” He half pulled from Peter’s grip, and the floor rushed up to meet him at a dizzying speed. “Whoa… face plant…”

Peter wanted to cry. This wasn’t the Neal Caffrey he needed right now. He needed Neal sober, thinking, helping… not this half-mad creature who couldn’t control his own limbs. Crouching down, Peter slung Neal’s arms around his shoulders and lifted him up, carrying him out of the room. “Come on, Neal… I need your help…”

“Okay… jus’ set my feet down…” Neal slumped in Peter’s grip, and when Peter let his feet drop to the floor, it was all Neal could do to hold onto Peter’s shoulder with his left arm and try to make his feet work right. His head hung down as Peter dragged him… somewhere… he couldn’t open his eyes…

A door opened, and Peter pulled him inside. The door closed behind them and Neal felt himself slump to the floor out of Peter’s grasp… he was so tired… fuzzy… and then Peter was crouched beside him, hauling him up to lean against a wall. He’d found them a place to hide, for the moment anyway. _He came for me… he’s gonna save me…_

“I cannot believe you!” Peter hissed. He was furious at Neal for more reasons than he could count: breaking in, trying to steal Powell’s files, getting caught, getting drugged… “Why would you do something like _this_?!”

Finally opening his eyes again, Neal brushed off Peter’s question. It was a silly question, after all; he’d done it for the case… for Peter… why else would he do anything? “Oh, Peter… I’ve done soooooooooooooo many worse thing you don’ even know ‘bout…” _Why shouldn’ I tell him, anyway? Not like he’s gonna throw me in prison for ‘em… not when he promised…_

“Just shut up!” Peter snapped. He needed to think… didn’t need the distraction… _Then again… how often does the opportunity come along that Neal Caffrey’s guard is down?_ “Like what things?” Peter found himself asking.

 _He wants to know… he’s asking… he’s interested… love impressing Peter… love when Peter’s proud of me… love Peter…_ “You rememer the Antioch manuscripts?”

“You took those?” Peter was astounded. He’d always thought Neal had taken them, but there was never any sign… no evidence they could connect… “How?” he demanded.

“Carrier pigeons!” Neal grinned, knowing Peter would be impressed by that. It was a stroke of genius on his part, after all. “Think about it… who cares, though, Peter? That’s not what’s important. It’s not about money… it’s about people…” It was suddenly very important that Peter understand… Peter had never understood about why Neal did this… never understood why he forged and stole and conned… _Doesn’ unnerstan’… never unnerstood…_

“Good!” Peter snapped again. “Because you’re gonna be spending a lot of quality time with people in orange jumpsuits once I get you out of here.” _Of all the stupid, reckless, idiotic things, Neal… I can’t stop this now…_

“Right…” _Peter won’ stop them… sen’ me to prison… have sex with jus’ El again… doesn’ need me… doesn’ care ‘bout me…_ “Goin’ down once they see those security tapes of me breakin’ in here…”

“Surveillance cameras,” Peter muttered, turning the perfectly normal words in to an epithet. _Now I really can’t stop this… damn it, Neal, what is wrong with you!_

 _Doesn’ care… mebbe never cared… but needs to know… need to tell him…_ Tears pricked at his eyes; Neal didn’t want them to. He knew Peter hated tears. But he couldn’t stop them from gathering. “Before I go back, you should know this… out of all the people in my life… Mozzie… even Kate, you know…? You’re the only one.” He poked at Peter as he said it, needing Peter to understand.

“The only one what?” Peter asked. _I’m not sure I want to know… I’m not sure I could take it right now…_

“The only person in my life I trust.” _Not the only one I love… love Kate… love you… but don’ trust Kate… only you…_

Seeing Elizabeth in that surveillance photo, holding her sign. That was the only moment in his life that Peter could really compare with this one. The weight that Peter had carried in his chest for nearly two weeks suddenly lifted, the wall he’d erected between them tumbling to rubble, as Peter stared at the man he loved. _It’s no use… I can’t keep him out forever… he’ll always find a way in… Hell, he’s already in… crawled right into my heart and made himself at home… I love Neal… Neal trusts me… really trusts me… and he doesn’t trust Kate._

_Love without trust is meaningless…_

Peter wanted to kiss Neal. To hold him. To tell him that everything was going to be all right. He couldn’t afford to yet. Instead, he ran a hand through Neal’s hair, clasped his shoulder for a moment, and then reached out and dragged one of the chairs away from the conference table they were crouched near. Pulling his handcuffs, he latched Neal’s left wrist to the base of the chair. “Don’t pick this,” he warned. _I can’t believe I’m about to do this… I can only hope the security booth is empty right now…_

Neal watched him go, his vision still hazy. “Won’t Peter… won’ go ‘f you don’ want… ♪I’ve got you under my skin…♪ Can’t…” He pulled at the cuff, staring at it. “Likes puttin’ cuffs on me… kinky!Peter…” Blinking, Neal tried to clear his vision. “I could slip you off,” he told the cuff in the interests of full disclosure. “That wouldn’ be picking… that’d be slipping… but…” _Peter… Peter put it on me… I can’ take it off… like my ring… Peter gave me a ring…_ “♪Loooooooove is a many-splendored thing…♪”

The door closed again. Peter was back, crouching in front of him and holding up a small black thing… “What is that?” Neal asked, feeling groggy and uncertain… he thought he knew… it looked like it might be…

“Surveillance tape,” Peter confirmed, setting it in the chair and unlocking the cuffs he’d used to keep Neal from wandering off.

Things weren’t making sense again. Neal stared at Peter, not comprehending. “Peter…?”

 _We’ll deal with it later… I’ll figure out whether I’m insane later… when he’s sober again… I must be in love to have even considered doing something like that…_ Stuffing the tape into his jacket and hauling Neal to his feet, Peter slung Neal’s arm around his shoulders again. “Let’s go.”

Neal was still trying to figure out exactly when Peter Burke had started caring… really caring… “You stole that for me?” _He stole a security tape… he doesn’t want me to go back… has to care a little… ‘nuff to touch me again? Stay with me? Keep me safe?_

“Yeah… it’s a regular Kodak moment.” Peter pulled Neal along, fervently hoping that Neal could keep a grip on his impulses to try out for American Idol. “Come on.”

“I’m comin’…” With an effort, Neal lifted his head and looked at Peter. _My Peter… my big damn hero…_ “You’ll keep me… won’ let me fall…?”

Peter’s heart throbbed in his chest. _I wish I could keep you, Neal…_ “No, Neal… I won’t let you fall.”


	4. Vital Signs Redux – Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for complete notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

The gods only knew how Peter got a still-tipsy Neal out of the Howser Clinic without being seen, stopped or otherwise recognized as not supposed to be there. Neal, for his part, seemed to be swimming just on the edge of consciousness; now that Peter was there, the adrenaline rush of fear that had kept him awake was ebbing, and the drugs were dragging him down into sleep. Neal was dead weight as Peter fumbled those usually graceful limbs into the Ford and drove to Brooklyn like the hounds of Hell were after them.

The only thing Peter could think of was to take Neal to his home in Brooklyn. It was closer than June’s, and going to June’s didn’t even enter Peter’s mind until they were already crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

Surprised to find that it was Peter who’d rung the doorbell, Elizabeth’s jaw dropped open when Peter carried a barely conscious Neal through the door. “Peter, what happened?”

“They caught him snooping around in one of the offices,” Peter snarled, trying not to unceremoniously dump Neal onto the couch. “By the time I got there, they had him strapped to a gurney and drugged… probably benzos, the way he’s been acting.”

“Didn’ break rules…” Neal murmured, drowsy and drugged and safe… he knew Peter had brought him out of there… Peter had come for him, just like he’d asked… “My hero… didn’ break… used Mozzie… didn’ seduce no one…”

“Is he going to be all right?” El asked as her husband covered Neal with a blanket. “Should he go to a hospital?”

“No… a hospital would only ask questions I can’t answer without getting Neal sent to prison.” Peter sat on the coffee table, running soft fingers through Neal’s messy hair as Neal finally drifted off. “Besides, if I’m right about the drugs, he’ll be fine after a few hours sleep.” After a moment’s thought, Peter shifted to kneel next to the couch, unbuttoning Neal’s shirt. “Honey, can you get his shoes?”

Nodding, Elizabeth slipped them from Neal’s feet and then watched knowingly as Peter gently removed Neal’s shirt and belt. _Neal got to him… or maybe just being afraid for Neal… either way, Peter won’t be able to stay away anymore. It’s better all around… especially if being with Peter shows Neal what love is really like… if Neal sees what it’s like when the person you love really loves you back, he might not leave us for Kate…_

Carefully laying Neal back down, Peter thought for a moment. The glint of the long chain around Neal’s neck had caught Peter’s eye, and now that Neal’s shirts were no longer tucked in, the ring had slipped back over Neal’s shoulder, drawing the chain across the slender column of Neal’s throat. After a moment’s hesitation, Peter unfastened the chain and removed it, slipping it into his pocket so it wouldn’t be lost. “He still wears it,” Peter said softly, almost to himself.

“You thought he’d stop, just because you wanted a break?” Elizabeth asked.

 _I didn’t know how much it would mean to him… didn’t know if he understood… reading Neal is sometimes impossible, no matter how much I know._ “I wasn’t sure,” Peter replied simply. Leaning into Elizabeth as she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Peter watched Neal sleep. Neal was always so beautiful when he slept…

A soft sound, almost like a whimper. Peter reached out automatically, brushing light fingers over Neal’s temple. As if knowing it was Peter, Neal seemed to relax. Elizabeth gave a gentle sigh. “Call the Bureau; let them know you won’t be in for a while. We have to stay with Neal until he wakes up.”

“Don’t you have a meeting this afternoon?” Peter asked absently. He had no idea the strength of the drug they’d given Neal; no idea how long Neal might sleep… and how long that sleep would be filled with fearful dreams…

“Yvonne can handle it if necessary.” Elizabeth’s voice was solemn as she punctuated the statement with a kiss to Peter’s temple. “Neal is more important… to both of us.”

Turning his head, Peter caught her lips in a heartfelt, open kiss. “I love you,” he told her softly.

“I know,” Elizabeth replied. “Eventually, you’ll need to tell him, too.”

“No.” Peter shook his head, glancing back at Neal. “He loves Kate. He may not trust her, but he loves her.”

Making a soft sound of discontent, Elizabeth stroked Peter’s hair. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, too, Peter… if Neal loves you, which I think he does, _and_ he trusts you…” She left the statement open, leaving Peter to consider the implications as she went to call Yvonne about the client meeting.

Peter didn’t want to think about it. Elizabeth had good instincts, but he wanted the words from Neal… wanted more than he was likely to ever get. Sighing softly, Peter brushed gentle fingers over Neal’s temple again. “Just sleep, Neal… I’m here.”

Warm and safe, Peter standing guard against nightmares, Neal slept on.

* * *

Head throbbing. That was the second thing Neal noticed as consciousness returned. Aching, persistent, right behind his eyes. Thinking hurt. Light hurt. The soft pillow under his hair hurt… or was that just his hair?

But Peter Burke’s warm hand holding his was the first thing Neal noticed, and that didn’t hurt at all. It felt wonderful, in fact. Neal opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of Peter’s face before the light stabbed at his corneas and the lids slammed shut again.

“Welcome back,” Peter greeted softly.

“Thanks.” Neal took a deep breath and let his eyelids crack open again. Peter was still there, handsome face gentle and careful and concerned. _He still cares… he came to get me… and was I really well-drugged, or did he steal a surveillance tape for me?_ “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.” Peter brushed at a stray curl against Neal’s temple. “You were holding out pretty well for a while, but you were starting to nod off in the car, and were out cold the minute you hit the couch.”

“Do I want to know how much ammunition I gave you?” Neal asked with a groan. _I don’t remember things very clearly… but I can just imagine what I told Peter while I was high enough not to watch my mouth…_

Peter didn’t answer. His fingers stroked Neal’s wrist gently, a careful smile on his face. “Gave us a scare, Neal.”

Neal’s heart gave a curious flutter. “Me, too. A couple orderlies interrupted the fax… I wasn’t sure you’d get it… or would understand what it meant and come for me before I got dissected.”

“Figured they’d harvest your organs to keep you quiet?” Peter hadn’t let go of his hand, the smile on his lips becoming amused.

“Maybe.” Neal’s eyes closed again, squeezing shut as waves of pain throbbed through his skull again. “God, my head hurts… what’d they give me?”

“Probably benzodiazepine,” Peter supplied. “Anti-anxiety, sedative; sells real well on the black market as a euphoric and a downer from things like cocaine or heroin.”

“Euphoric?” Neal pried his eyes open as Elizabeth, who had heard them talking, walked over and settled an ice bag for his aching head. “Peter, don’t tell me…”

A grin split Peter’s face. “You were giving Michael Bublé a run for his money… Sinatra’s greatest hits.” Neal groaned and hid his face under the ice pack, which had Peter standing up and turning away to hide his laughter.

Elizabeth tapped her foot impatiently at him, sitting down on the arm of the sofa near Neal’s feet. Yvonne had been unable to take the meeting after all, and Elizabeth had changed into a red dress while Neal was sleeping. “Peter, don’t make fun of him; he’s had a very hard morning.”

“Yeah… real tough,” Peter agreed sarcastically. “Talking your way into the Howser Clinic, conducting an illegal search of a physician’s private office and violating who knows how many people’s HIPAA privacy rights, getting caught at it, strapped down to a psych patient’s gurney and drugged to the gills. All of which required me to flirt with a woman I’d rather never talk to again, sneak into the same office, steal the security video that would have landed you in prison faster than your head could spin and somehow sneak you out of there without you treating half the clinic to a medley from the Rat Pack’s glory days.” Somehow, Peter had worked himself up into a prime temper. _I can’t believe him… I never had mornings like this before Neal Caffrey came into my life._

“Peter, can you yell at me a little softer, please?” Neal shifted the ice pack, wincing slightly. “Uh… my head is killing me.”

“Neal, are you all right?” El asked, still worried. _He scared Peter… and me…_

“Hey… what about me?” Peter asked, feeling a little injured. Neal might be coming off the effects of a somewhat potent drug, but Peter had spent half the morning dragging Neal’s dead weight around. _Not to mention being scared to death for him…_

“There’s some dishes that need washed, Mr. Magic Hands,” El replied archly. _Magic hands, indeed… he and I are going to talk later about how he earned **that** descriptor… there are limits to my forbearance… and Neal’s too, I’ll bet. I wonder if Neal knows how far it went at that tennis club…_ She then turned back to Neal. “Do you want some more ice?” When Neal nodded, she took the ice bag from him. “Okay… I’ll get some.”

Peter tried to ignore the warning look Elizabeth shot him as she walked into the kitchen, settling down on the table again. “Better have found something,” he warned softly. _This morning better not have been for nothing…_

 _Okay… at least he’s not so mad he isn’t interested in what I found… that’s something._ Neal shifted closer, looking up at Peter, focusing on Peter’s face through the pain. “I saw a list full of wealthy clients,” Neal murmured, unwilling to speak any louder against the throbbing behind his eyes. “All of them willing to pay for organs if the time comes.”

“Be nice if we could prove it.” Peter wished there had been a way to get the information legally… still… there had to be some way to use the information that Neal had risked everything for… _I hate to reward his risk-taking by actually using what he got for us… but we need to close the case, and Neal’s freedom depends on us using whatever we get however we can… I can’t let him go back. I just can’t._

“Maybe we can.” Neal pushed through the headache, his eyes locked on Peter’s face… Peter made the elephant soccer game inside his skull seem dull and far away… “There was another list: hundreds of names and blood types.”

Remembering what had come through with Neal’s message, Peter picked up a piece of paper from the table behind him, nearly forgotten in his frenzy to find and help Neal. “Your fax… that’s what this is.” He turned the page to show Neal what had come through… what had saved his life, or at least his freedom.

“Yeah… must be the donors Powell’s been targeting.” Neal scanned the page, remembering what else he’d seen in Powell’s office. His memory was blurry at the edges, an after-effect of the drug. “Only four names came through?”

“Four’s enough,” Peter assured him. “We can talk to them.” Neal started to rise, wincing as the sudden movement sent blood rushing through his veins into his head. Pain spiked, driving his eyes shut again and a sharp hiss through his teeth. Peter all but tossed the fax aside and pressed Neal back down onto the couch. “Easy, Neal… you’re not going anywhere right now.”

“We need to talk to them,” Neal insisted, his voice reedy and quiet. Elizabeth returned with the ice bag and Peter gently pressed it to Neal’s forehead. “You need me to come with you.”

“No, I don’t.” Peter’s voice was quiet but firm. “What I need is for you to rest. I’m taking you back to June’s and you’re going to get some sleep. I’ll come by to check on you this evening, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow. The team can do the legwork on these four, and a few other things that need run down.”

“I should be there.” Neal didn’t dare move again, concentrating on the warmth of Peter’s hands through his tee shirt, the way Peter’s hip rested against his thigh. Those were much nicer sensations than the tin drums that were now reverberating inside his head. “I should be helping.”

“You helped enough for today, Neal.” Peter’s right hand smoothed across Neal’s chest, over his shoulder, down his arm. Gentle strokes, intended for comfort. “We’re a team; let us do our jobs. You aren’t alone on these cases, you know.”

Forcing himself into a sitting position, Neal removed the ice bag from his head and opened his eyes. Peter’s face was inches from his own, russet eyes like banked embers… “I can do things you can’t, Peter… go places you can’t go. You need me with you.”

“And we also need you safe, Neal,” Elizabeth cut in softly, sitting down behind Neal on the couch. “You shouldn’t take so many risks… we worry about you.”

Peter could see the question in Neal’s eyes: the doubt that Elizabeth’s assertion was true. _It’s not like I really had a chance, anyway… not against Neal…_ Peter gently cupped Neal’s chin. “She’s right,” Peter told him gently. “We do.”

The descent of Peter’s lips was so slow; Neal almost doubted it was happening. But the touch of warm, smooth lips against his own was no drug-induced fantasy, no fever dream. The ice bag tumbled forgotten from Neal’s fingers as his hands slid around Peter’s torso, finding their familiar grip on the firm muscles cloaking Peter’s shoulder blades. It was so sweet… so perfect… it felt like it had been forever and Neal had missed Peter so much… missed this…

Slim hands on his back, sliding around his chest. Elizabeth was still behind him, shifting to embrace Neal and leaning her head against his shoulder while Neal kissed her husband. She’d had opportunities when Neal had come to the house for dinner, but Elizabeth had never joined their embraces before… it was new, but it somehow didn’t break the spell… it felt right… felt warm and welcome… like home…

Something stirred… Neal felt its beginnings, braiding them together… unbreakable…

He gasped again, and Peter released his mouth. Elizabeth relaxed her grip, peering around his shoulder into his face. Neal could just barely make out the concern on her face, could see the question in Peter’s eyes… _Whoa… that was definitely a high you can’t get with a drug…_ Pushing away the thought… the temptation… Neal’s unsteady fingers found the ice bag again and he pressed it against the back of his neck. “Think I’ll take you up on the sick day,” he relented, his voice trembling from a sensation completely different from pain. “Guess I’m not ready to get back in the saddle just yet.”

Something passed between Peter and Elizabeth. Neal wasn’t sure what it might be, but he didn’t want to try and decipher it just now. Peter merely nodded and withdrew the chain from his pocket that bore his ten-year commemorative ring. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep with this on,” Peter explained softly when Neal’s eyes widened. “Didn’t want it choking you.”

“Yeah.” Neal’s free hand reached out, his fingers brushing over the ring that dangled from the chain. “Thanks.” _He didn’t take it because he doesn’t want me to have it anymore… they didn’t take it from me at the clinic… Peter still wants me to have it…_

Wordlessly, Peter unfastened the clasp and slipped the ends around Neal’s neck. Taking the ends from Peter, Elizabeth fastened the clasp as the ring came to rest where it belonged against Neal’s heart. Standing up, Peter gazed down at Neal with a veiled expression and offered Neal his hands. “Let’s go… sooner we get you to June’s, the sooner you can get some sleep.”

Taking Peter’s hands, Neal stood slowly, gauging how steady his legs were beneath him. When he was sure he could stay standing, Neal nodded and Peter let him go, fetching Neal’s shoes and shirt from beside the couch.

It wasn’t until Neal was alone again in his suite at June’s, having assured everyone that he was fine and that he was just going to sleep, that Neal cupped the ring in his palm and contemplated it. Significant things kept happening whenever the Burkes were around, and Neal wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to understand what they meant… wasn’t sure he was ready to understand. _I love Peter… and I adore El… and they want me to be safe… that’s all I need to know… for now._

* * *

_I’m just going to check on him… it’s been a long day and it was a bad morning and I’m just going to check on him and then I’ll go home._ Peter repeated the assertion to himself as he made his way up the stairs to Neal’s suite, knocking firmly but not too loudly on the door. _Just going to check on him…_

The door opened. Neal was standing on the other side, looking tousled and freshly scrubbed and dressed in a tee shirt and sleep pants. His eyes widened just a little in surprise; Neal hadn’t expected Peter to actually come tonight.

Neal didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Peter crossed the threshold and his hands were sliding under that tee shirt, yanking it over Neal’s head. Neal’s hand all but flung the door closed and then his arms were around Peter’s neck and Peter was pulling him close and there was the tiniest jump and then Neal’s legs were around Peter’s waist and his hands were in Peter’s hair and his lips were on Peter’s lips…

They tumbled across the sheets, a tangle of limbs. Neal couldn’t manage his usual artistry; his fingers popped more buttons from Peter’s shirt than they spared in their haste, his kisses open and voracious. “Need you… Peter…”

“Neal…” Peter’s mind still shouted objections and caveats at him, telling him all of the reasons why this was a very bad terrible idea, but Neal’s open mouth found the hollow of Peter’s shoulder, suckling hard, and Peter told that part of his brain quite firmly to shut the Hell up. Neal was here and warm and passionate in his arms and that was exactly how Peter wanted him, and it was grace alone that made him remember the lubricant in Neal’s bedside table as the remainder of their clothes finally vanished.

Flipping Neal onto his stomach, Peter’s fingers sank deep and Neal bucked back against Peter’s hand with a cry. “Peter…! Peter, please… please, I need to see you…”

“Easy, sweetheart…” Peter brushed kisses over Neal’s spine, letting his fingers sink deeper as Neal’s hips thrust back… changing the angle ever so slightly and pressing firmly against Neal’s prostate…

Neal’s body jumped, lights flashing behind his eyes, and then Neal was rolling away from Peter’s hand and under Peter at the same time. “Peter… Peter, not… like that… please… not like that…”

The tinge of panic in Neal’s eyes registered, and Peter was cradling Neal close, kissing him, understanding. Some things were best left in the past. Those slim legs were wrapping around Peter’s hips and Peter slid willingly into Neal’s tight warmth, letting Neal cling to him and kissing the panic away. “It’s okay, sweetheart… I’ve got you…”

Whimpering, moaning, Neal anchored to Peter and let the tremors of memory dissipate. “Don’t let go, Peter… please … I need you…”

“Need you, too, Neal…” Peter rocked into Neal, long and slow, savoring the scent of Neal’s skin and the clutch of Neal’s body and the sound of Neal’s moans in his ear. “I won’t let go…”

Hours might have passed, but Neal wouldn’t have known it. His reality had shrunk to the circle of Peter Burke’s arms, the deep tidal rhythm of Peter’s erection moving within him. Neal could willingly have stayed in that moment forever, his hips pressing up to meet Peter’s every stroke, his fingers flexing into the solid muscles of Peter’s back. Peter’s lips searing kisses over the column of his throat, the curve of his shoulder, sending shimmering shockwaves over Neal’s skin. The rough velvet of Peter’s voice, calling him sweetheart…

And then Peter was bringing Neal tighter, rearing up onto his knees… Neal held on as Peter shifted their position and braced Neal against the headboard, hands clamping hard on Neal’s waist as the rhythm changed, driving harder, faster, somehow deeper, and Neal’s hands lifted from Peter’s back to dig hard into the top of the headboard and hold on for dear life… Peter took him, hard and possessive, and Neal didn’t hold back, his moans turning to cries and his cries nearly becoming screams as Peter sparked over his prostate again and again and again…

The coiling tension burst, like the breaking of a dam. Neal exploded between them, fingers digging so hard into the wood that he was sure they’d left gouges. Peter couldn’t outlast him, the deep spasm of Neal’s muscles carrying Peter over the edge. Neal felt tears prick at his eyes as Peter’s release washed into him, unencumbered… Peter still trusted Neal’s discretion, at least…

Slowly, Neal was able to open his eyes. Peter’s were already open, gazing at Neal’s face with an expression Neal wasn’t sure how to read. “How long has it been?” Neal asked, his voice trembling. _Don’t tell him, Neal… don’t let it out… he has a wife and everyone you love leaves you in the end…_

“Only two weeks,” Peter replied, his own voice just as uneven. _As if there was any way not to love Neal Caffrey when he looks like that… so damn beautiful when he comes…_

Neal shifted, restless somehow, needing more. “Feels like longer… Peter…”

Peter laughed ruefully. “Give me a minute, Neal… my recovery time’s not what it used to be.”

“Don’t try and play the ‘old man’ card with me, Peter.” Neal grinned at him as Peter slipped out and shifted his weight, sprawling them both across the sheets again. “You’ve got more stamina than any ten agents. You’d have to, keeping up with me the way you do.”

“Tell me about it.” Tenderly, Peter cupped Neal’s cheek, running his thumb up Neal’s cheekbone. “You’re so damn beautiful when you come, sweetheart…” The endearment had Neal wriggling closer, tangling his limb with Peter’s again and just holding on as he burrowed his face in Peter’s neck. “Easy, Neal…” Peter kissed his temple, stroking a soothing hand down Neal’s back. “Easy…”

“Don’t leave me again,” Neal pleaded softly. “Please, Peter; whatever I did, I’ll fix it… just please don’t pull away from me again…”

For a long moment, Peter just held Neal close, brushing kisses over Neal’s temple and trying to soothe him. It wasn’t enough; Neal was shaking in his arms, voice as broken and pleading as Peter’s spirit felt when he thought of losing Neal. _This is crazy… I’m out of my mind… there’s no way Neal Caffrey needs me that much… but I can’t say no when he asks like that…_

It didn’t take much. Neal was already well stretched from their last exchange, still slick from lube and ejaculate. Peter’s lips floated over Neal’s skin as arousal returned and Peter slipped inside, inch by slow inch, savoring the way Neal’s body opened to him without reserve and Neal’s head dropped back with a low moan, exposing the long column of his throat to Peter’s mouth.

“Not again…” Peter murmured, knowing it was true. His hands grazed the slender planes of Neal’s body, memorizing the lines all over again… and Neal was clinging to him, wrapping arms and legs so tight that Peter wasn’t sure Neal’s muscles wouldn’t cramp from the effort, and Peter just cradled him and rocked in him again, whispering with each stroke: “Never again…”

Something inside Neal broke, tears spilling from his eyes at the gentle promise that carried through every syllable… every muscle that held him close… every deep flex that pressed Peter to Neal’s very core… it was just such a relief… Peter would never leave him… Peter, his hero… his big damn hero… he was promising never to leave…

Their climax was like a tidal wave, swelling and cresting and breaking and leaving them both gasping for air. Neal wouldn’t let go of Peter, his head still buried in Peter’s neck, when he heard a soft velvet murmur. “Don’t leave me, Neal… I won’t leave you, sweetheart… please don’t leave me.”

Slowly, not sure he’d heard Peter correctly, Neal tipped his head back until he could see Peter’s face. Those smoldering ember eyes were bright with unshed tears, and Neal suddenly understood. _That’s why… he’s afraid I’ll leave him… the message from Kate… he’s afraid I’ll leave him and I won’t come back… he needs to know…_

“I can’t promise that I’ll never have to leave,” Neal said carefully. “I don’t know where this thing with the music box and Fowler is going to take us… and I’ve made other enemies that I might have to deal with, someday… but I promise you this, Peter: if I have to leave, for any reason, I’ll always mark the trail. If you want to find me, I’ll be there to be found, even if it means going back to prison. I won’t hide from you ever again… and if you ask me… if you ask, I’ll always come back.”

With so much uncertain, Peter had to accept that asking Neal to stay was too much. But the promise was more than Peter could have expected, and Peter’s lips were sealing tightly against Neal’s, consecrating the vows they’d exchanged. _Neal Caffrey wants me… will come back to me if I ask it… he won’t hide… maybe I can’t keep him… some creatures aren’t meant to be kept… but if he promises to always come back… if really means it that he’ll always come back to me, then he’s mine…_

“Mine,” Peter half-growled, his grip on Neal tightening possessively.

“Yours,” Neal promised. He thought he’d left himself a loophole… it didn’t really feel like making a choice, the promise he’d made. After all, Peter would be the one choosing to ask Neal to come back…

Peter rolled Neal again, his lips searing a trail of possession down Neal’s body, and Neal pushed his thoughts aside. They still had a case to attend in the morning… and if he told himself enough times that he hadn’t made a choice, Neal Caffrey might even believe his own con.


	5. Vital Signs Redux – Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for complete notes, warnings, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Morning light filtered against Neal’s eyes as he woke to Peter’s lips on the back of his neck. Peter’s leg was between his own, and Peter’s right arm was wrapped under his body, the hand resting on his stomach. A soft sigh of contentment escaped; there was nowhere on Earth he would rather wake up than enveloped in this man’s arms.

“I know you’re awake,” Peter murmured against his neck.

Neal made a soft sound, confessing without words, and nestled further back into Peter. Peter’s left hand slid between them, fingers already slick, and Neal shifted his leg further up Peter’s to give him better access. “Peter…”

“Yes, sweetheart…” Peter stroked gently, careful to massage the muscles without doing anything to rekindle the memory he’d unearthed the previous night. _Need to be careful of that… need to remember that Neal has a sexual past that’s not nearly as rosy as mine…_

Moaning, Neal shifted back against Peter’s hand restlessly… Peter’s fingers were wonderful, but never enough… Neal reached back, needing to feel Peter… needing to know…

Peter smiled as Neal reached for him, sliding deep when he judged Neal relaxed enough. It never failed to amaze him, how tactile Neal was… “God, sweetheart… you’re always so hot…”

Head falling back against Peter’s shoulder, Neal felt a shudder race through his veins. This was what he needed… Peter, deep and consuming… keeping him safe… “Just for you, Peter…”

Chuckling softly, Peter wrapped his arms around Neal, pulling that lithe, graceful body back into his own, trapping Neal against him and remaining perfectly still. It wasn’t long before Neal’s hips were questing, shifting, trying to create the friction they wanted… “Easy, sweetheart… just feel me… I’m right here…”

“Peter…” Neal heard the whine of need ring in his voice and rolled his hips harder into Peter’s… he needed Peter to move… “Peter… please… come on; don’t tease me like this…”

Another small chuckle, and Peter’s tongue flickered out, lapping just behind Neal’s ear. “I love teasing you,” he murmured, acquiescing anyway, stroking deep and fast and grinning at the moan that drove through Neal’s lips. “So responsive… so hot… no wonder everyone that sees you wants you…”

“Only you… get me,” Neal gasped out, clinging to Peter and letting go…

Peter’s left hand slid to wrap around Neal’s erection, the rhythm of their hips the only motion necessary… Neal gave a shuddering little gasp that ended in a cry, and Peter kissed the curve of his throat as he drove harder… faster…

It wasn’t long before Neal was keening his name and thrashing in his arms and spilling his climax all over Peter’s hand. Peter purposely slowed his hips, watching as Neal orgasmed in his arms, waiting until the tremors had nearly subsided before picking up the tempo again and finding his own release. Neal gave a tiny cry of surprise as it sparked an aftershock, his body trembling even as his spent arousal softened in Peter’s gentle grip.

Long minutes passed. The only sound in the suite was their commingled breath as it returned to normal, their heartbeats slowing. Neal let a shiver of pleasure trip down his body and nestled back against Peter with a smile. “Good morning to you, too.”

He could feel the curve of those talented, gentle, wonderful lips against his neck. “You were out cold, even when the alarm went off… and we’ve got to go in today.”

Neal laughed and rolled in Peter’s arms, wrapping around him and indulging in a long, tender kiss. “Really think I much prefer that wake-up call to the alarm clock,” he informed Peter with an impish grin.

Peter’s answering smile was just as mischievous, russet flames dancing in his eyes. “I could always call you on mornings when I’m not here… tell you what I’d like to be doing to you… listen to you stroke off, wishing I was here…”

The image had Neal’s breath coming faster, his eyes dilating as his blood stirred. _This man… I never would have imagined the effect he has on me…_ “Phone sex, Peter? Given that you haven’t flirted since the late nineties, I wouldn’t have thought phone sex was in your repertoire…”

“There’s a big difference between trying to pique the interest of some stranger and trying to turn on you or El,” Peter advised, kissing the expressive azure eyes he adored. “It’s… easier, since I know you… even if I make a fool of myself, I haven’t lost my chance…”

Reaching up, Neal laid a gentle hand on Peter’s cheek. It was hard to remember that this handsome, passionate, gentle man… this man who had so much to offer any lover… somehow, somewhere along the way, had been convinced that he wasn’t worth more than a second glance. “I think I speak for both Elizabeth and I when I say: you can flirt anytime you like… even if you think you’re making a fool of yourself.”

Peter’s smile became sarcastic. “As long as it’s only with one of you?”

Neal blushed faintly, remembering his jealous fit over Melissa’s interest in Peter. “That’s what I’d prefer… and from the way El sounded yesterday, she would, too.” Neal then looked back up at Peter, an eyebrow quirking as he remembered something. “By the way… magic hands?”

“Something Melissa said,” Peter admitted. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss that with Neal. “I called her after I confirmed with the Marshalls that you were at the clinic; El gave me pointers on how to flirt with her to get her to invite me to the clinic so I could get in without a warrant, and Melissa said she missed my ‘magic hands’. El… wasn’t real happy about that.”

“I can imagine.” Neal gave Peter another soft kiss, almost chaste, and ran a hand through Peter’s hair. “You should pick El up when the case is done… meet her for a drink somewhere as Dr. Tannenbaum and turn on the charm… seduce her. She’d love it… and it’ll make her forget all about your hands on Melissa Calloway.”

Peter considered it for a moment. The idea had merit… although he wasn’t sure about setting it up for a bar or café somewhere… surprising her at home would be easier… and he’d certainly be more comfortable in that setting. “Look at you, giving me advice on how to seduce someone else.” Peter stroked a hand down Neal’s side, light and lingering. He loved touching Neal… loved watching the way Neal’s breath hitched in his throat and those blue eyes glowed…

“Not just someone else,” Neal objected, his voice unsteady and edged with passion. Peter was far too close, touching him with possessive familiarity, for Neal to be entirely composed. “Elizabeth… you know, your wife? The woman who, for an as yet undisclosed reason, thinks that you and I as lovers is a good idea?” A soft sound of acknowledgement rolled in Peter’s throat, and Neal saw the light in Peter’s eyes intensify. _We’ll never get to the office at this rate… which I wouldn’t necessarily count as a bad thing, but still…_ “Oh, God… Peter, no… we have to get out of bed and go to the Bureau. Evil organ-donation charity scam? Doctor with only one kidney bilking people for millions? Remember?”

With a soft, regretful sigh, Peter nodded. “Yeah… and I need a change of clothes. You tore half the buttons off my shirt last night.”

“I’ll have it mended,” Neal promised. “Come on; you get a shower. I’ll find you some clothes and start breakfast.”

Unconsciously licking his lips, Peter’s gaze became speculative. “We could save time… shower together… then I can start breakfast while you find the clothes…”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Neal kissed Peter, rolled out of bed and pulled on his robe. “If I let you have your way, we’ll never get to the office. Besides, your omelets always turn into scrambled eggs. Go on.”

Grumbling, Peter acceded to Neal’s insistence, dragging the sheet around his body like a toga and heading for the shower.

Taking a long, deep breath, Neal was glad for the moment of respite. It gave him a chance to realign his senses. It hadn’t taken as long as he’d thought it might to bring Peter back into his bed, although that was probably partially due to his own idiocy at the Howser Clinic yesterday. And now he knew why Peter had put the distance between them in the first place. _I should have just told him about the flower Kate left… but I don’t know what it means beyond that she’s asking for my trust, and I already know what Peter would say about that…_

 _Besides,_ he mused, finding the clothes Peter had left there by accident before their break. _This whole thing is my fault. I let people think I had the music box to boost my reputation. If I hadn’t, Fowler wouldn’t have gone after Kate, wouldn’t be targeting Peter. The people I love are in trouble because of me. It’s my battle to fight, not theirs. They’re just casualties of war._ Sighing softly, Neal laid out his own clothes beside Peter’s, glad he’d sent Peter’s clothes to be laundered with his own, and set about making breakfast.

His thoughts turned to Peter again, which wasn’t unusual at all since they’d become lovers. Neal could easily imagine the tall, muscled body currently in the shower; could picture the way the rivulets of water ran over Peter’s skin… paths that Neal could follow with his tongue… _I wonder if Peter ever wishes I’d top him… beyond telling me that he and… what was his name… Jeremy; that’s it… he and Jeremy spent three years as lovers in college, he didn’t tell me much else. Is Peter a switch? Would he let me even if he is? It could be amazing…_

A sudden image sprang into Neal’s mind, catching him off-guard: pressing into Peter from behind, feeling Peter’s solid chest beneath his hands as he pulled Peter close… finding out if Peter’s prostate was as sensitive as his own… blue eyes like his own, over Peter’s shoulder, sparkling with passion and delight… Peter’s moan echoing in his ear as Neal sank to the hilt into Peter and leaned over Peter’s shoulder to kiss Elizabeth, one hand on Peter’s hip and the other on her thigh where it wrapped around Peter’s waist…

 _Whoa!_ Neal shook himself hard, the fantasy evaporating as his attention returned to the present. _Where the Hell did that come from?_

“Hey.” Peter emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. “I should shave, too; can I borrow your… Neal? Are you okay?”

Neal turned, blinking away the remnants of the fantasy and his shock at it. _It’s just leftover from the way El hugged me while Peter was kissing me yesterday… I am not having sexual fantasies about being in bed with Peter and El at the same time. That’s just… crazy. It wouldn’t work… would never work… Peter would go nuts if I so much as hinted that I’d like to think about it…_ “Yeah… I’m okay. Go ahead and use the razor; it’s fine. Breakfast’ll be done in a couple minutes.”

Peter looked unconvinced, but nodded and stepped back into the bathroom.

Forcing himself to focus, Neal gauged the timing on the omelet in the pan and stepped quickly into the bedroom to fetch his ring. He was safer with the chain around his neck, the ring resting against the heart that belonged to Peter… _And to Kate,_ Neal reminded himself as he flipped the omelet. _Not Peter and Elizabeth… Peter and Kate… two people who would never get into bed with me at the same time…_

By the time Peter had re-emerged from the bathroom for breakfast, Neal had somehow managed to bury the fantasy. His life was complicated enough already.

* * *

It was nearly lunch before the team could all gather in one room to go over everything. By then, Neal’s equilibrium had returned completely, and he could focus on the case at hand. Peter’s team had managed to track down the four donors whose names had come through Neal’s emergency fax from the Howser Clinic. Unfortunately, it hadn’t gotten them very far.

“Powell doesn’t get his donors from overseas,” Peter explained, briefing his team once they were settled in with the files. “He gets them from charity cases for Hearts Wide Open. Each one of these four donors passed through Powell’s clinics for various treatments. Their blood types were then put on a master list which Powell pulled from whenever a more affluent patient needed a transplant.”

“Well, then what’s his connection to Doctoral Global Initiative?” Jones asked, slightly confused. “Why so many trips to India?”

“Remember: Powell has nephrosis. He’s only got one kidney, and he needs a new one; not just any one. A _zero mismatch_. Powell’s been looking all over the world for this kidney. The money from this charity scam is what sponsored and financed his round-the-world search.” Peter looked around the table at his team, knowing they had as much contempt for Powell as he did. Powell’s motives were from pure desperation, but his means were beyond redemption in Peter’s mind.

“So the kidney donors that you guys tracked down?” Jones asked, wondering exactly how Peter and Neal had gotten the names but not sure he wanted to know. “How much money did he offer them?”

“Ten thousand dollars each,” Peter supplied. “But then he flipped them for two-hundred thousand.” Shock and revulsion rippled across his team’s faces, and Peter knew exactly what they were feeling. “We can’t prove this, people. The donors won’t testify. So I’m gonna need some out-of-the-box thinking from you guys on this one.” Neal’s hand shot into the air, as if they were in school; Peter almost groaned. He wanted his team to try and come up with something… anything… before he would even consider listening to whatever outlandish scheme Neal had suddenly concocted.

Unfortunately for Peter, his team was blatantly refusing to look up from the files in front of them, apparently completely willing to let Neal Caffrey do the kind of thinking Peter wanted. “Anyone?” When not one of them stepped up to offer an alternative to whatever Neal wanted to say, Peter felt his heart sink and almost wished that he could have kept Neal out of this meeting. Eventually, he was sure that his team would have to work without Neal Caffrey’s unorthodox input, and Peter didn’t want them getting too used to letting Neal do the scheming for them. “All right, Caffrey: let’s have it.”

“If we can trace any of the money Powell’s made from his illegal organ sales, we can bring him down, right?” Neal asked quickly.

“Right,” Peter confirmed. _Where is Neal going with this? We’ve looked for the money…_

“So let’s make him spend that money,” Neal suggested.

“On what?” Jones was as surprised as anyone at the suggestion. He’d personally searched Powell’s personal finances, as well as Hearts Wide Open’s, searching for some sign of irregularity. If there was no way to find it, how would they know if Powell spent it?

Neal turned to Jones with a confident smile. “The thing he wants most.”

“Make him think Dr. Parker has a kidney for him.” Peter rolled the idea around in his mind. On the scale of cockamamie ideas Neal could come up with, this one wasn’t as insane as it could have been.

“Not just that Parker found one,” Neal continued. “But that Powell can’t afford to pass it up. He’s going to be cautious now, with the Bureau watching the clinic and the charity. We need to make Powell think that if he plays it safe, he won’t have another chance.”

Price’s face suddenly brightened, as if Neal’s idea had inspired one of his own. “If we could convince him that the one kidney he has is failing, or close to it, Powell wouldn’t dare let a zero mismatch kidney out of his grasp.”

Neal grinned at him. “Perfect… make him too desperate to care who might be watching for money to change hands.” He stood up and turned to Jones, who was already launching a search engine. Peter came to stand behind Jones’ chair, his face intent. _I love that face… love seeing Peter when he’s in hunter-mode…_ “What are the symptoms of kidney failure?”

“Major symptoms include headaches, weight loss, skin irritation, chills, fatigue and… ooh…” Jones broke off reading from the medical fact page, wincing at the picture that really didn’t, in his opinion, need to be included on the article. “That… that… that… that’s not pretty.”

Peter paced around the table as Neal pulled Jones computer closer, his eyes scanning the article. “All right: how many symptoms can we give him in a week?”

“Three should do it,” Neal mused, mulling over their options.

“Think that’ll be enough?” Peter saw Jennings step out from the corner of his eye, heading downstairs to wait for the Chinese food delivery that would arrive any minute, but his main focus was on Neal and the wheels turning inside that beautiful mind.

“Guy this worried about it?” Neal asked rhetorically. “It’ll be enough.”

Peter nodded, accepting Neal’s measure of the mark. Neal had gotten a good read on Powell back at the tennis club, and Peter trusted Neal’s instincts. “Okay… what do we start with?”

“Let’s see the workup on him.” Neal took the file Jones handed him, reviewing everything the Bureau had and his own memory at the same time. _What will push Powell past caution the quickest…? It has to be convincing…_

“Okay… one of the symptoms is headaches,” Jones offered.

“We could swap his glasses,” Peter suggested.

Neal was already past that, shaking his head. “I’ve got a friend who wears glasses,” he reminded Peter. “Trust me: we swap ‘em out; he’ll know.”

Forced to agree, Peter moved to the next symptom that sprang to mind. “Fatigue?”

“Weight loss,” Neal countered. Peter looked up sharply, and Neal felt the thrill of performing for Peter again, showing Peter what he could do… this would be a beautiful con… “According to his file, he dropped off a suit to have it dry-cleaned for an event this Tuesday night. The day before Powell’s due in, we’ll pick up his clothes and swap them out for a larger size; he’ll think he’s dropped a few pounds.”

Peter grinned, shedding his jacket as Jennings came back up with lunch. Most of the others followed suit, settling in to eat and brainstorm as they had a thousand times before. For once, Neal’s idea for a con might actually be legal… at least technically. “When we have his clothes, we give him his second problem.”

“Skin irritation,” Jones said, catching up with the pair’s evolving plan. Watching Peter and Neal working together was like watching a pair of dancers… they moved together so easily, feeding off each other’s cues.

“How do we do that?” Neal asked from his seat near the window. He hadn’t considered that symptom seriously, uncertain of how to induce it given that Powell didn’t have any contact allergies.

“Oh, we’ve got a spray,” Jones informed him almost gleefully. If there was one thing Jones loved, it was the gadgets the FBI had at their disposal.

“You’ve got an itching spray?” _I seriously wonder sometimes how right Mozzie is to be paranoid… the more I work with the Bureau, the more I find out that Moz should never know…_

Peter smirked. “We’ve got a lot of things you don’t know about.”

“Wow…” _Peter’s so damn sexy when he looks like that… like a hunter closing on his prey… if I’d known he could look like that when he was chasing me, things might have gone very differently._

Peter turned at the soft exclamation. “What?”

“You’re enjoying this,” Neal said quickly, covering for his real thoughts.

“No!” Peter turned back, looking down at his food. He knew the look in Neal’s eyes… wondered if someday, somehow, he and Neal could play for very different stakes than they had the first time Peter had hunted him down. “Maybe… just a little,” he admitted with a smirk. His team laughed at the admission; months of Peter and Neal playing off each other had loosened Peter up quite a bit, a change his subordinates appreciated. Peter had sensed the change in their dynamic, especially since he and Neal had become partners in and out of bed, and wondered what would happen when Neal left them… “Third symptom?” he asked quickly, distracting himself from the thought.

“It’s gotta be the best one,” Neal advised, refocusing his own thoughts. Peter was too tempting by half, whether they were alone or in a room full of people who definitely should not see Neal walk over and run his tongue up the underside of Peter’s jaw the way he wanted to just now…

Peter came around the table to look at the article Jones still had up. “Jones, what did you say it was?”

Looking ill at the thought, Jones turned the screen towards Peter. “Blood in the urine.”

“Wow… how we gonna induce that?” Peter asked the question of the room, but he somehow knew Neal would be the one to come up with the answer anyway.

“Well, there are compounds,” Neal offered, moving back to the table.

“Drugs? No, no, no.” _Not if we want Hughes to sign off on this, anyway._ “No drugs.”

“Not drugs,” Neal asserted quickly, “so much as… food coloring for the body.”

“How do we make him take it?” Peter asked, warming to that idea and pacing again. If it wasn’t harmful, he could sell it to Hughes, and that symptom really would be the coup de grace…

“He gets his groceries delivered, right?” Neal asked Jones.

When Jones confirmed it, Peter stopped and turned to look at Neal from across the room, sensing where Neal was going. “We put it in his cranberry juice?”

“Yeah… we inject it.” Neal’s eyes met Peter’s, the room disappearing for just a moment. Just the two of them… plotting a con… playing off each other… _If Peter hadn’t been a fed… if he’d been a con like me… gods, what a team we’d have made…_

Peter had to get a very firm grip on his hormones. Whenever Neal looked at him like that… like all he wanted to do was devour Peter where he stood… it was all Peter could do not to close the distance between them no matter where they were and let Neal do precisely what he so obviously wanted. “Say I go along with it; what then?”

Neal gave himself a mental shake, forcing himself to remember that they weren’t alone. Baiting Peter’s desire was a dangerous game anywhere outside his suite at June’s, and they both knew it. “Then… Powell gets the bad news: his only kidney is failing. I call him before his doctor has enough time to prove otherwise and tell him that I’ve found what he’s looking for. He’ll have a ticket on a flight to India within the hour.”

“But how do we keep him from actually going to India?” Price asked. “If he does, not only is he outside our jurisdiction, but he’ll know it was a con and he’ll be even more suspicious.”

“We knock him out, bring him back into his house and set things up from there,” Neal supplied. “His housekeeper will let us in with him. A little creative, temporary redecorating and he’ll think he’s in a run-down clinic in India. As Dr. Parker, I can convince him to provide a generous ‘donation’ to my clinic in exchange for the kidney and record the entire thing.”

“Okay… how are we gonna knock him out?” Peter asked.

“That won’t be a problem.” Neal smiled. “He takes sleeping pills before he flies. We give him a bottle of water with a half-dose already dissolved in it to take them with, and he’s asleep before the plane reaches the airport. He won’t remember a thing; he certainly won’t question the idea that he doesn’t remember getting on the flight to Manipur.”

Peter liked the symmetry of it. Powell had probably ordered Neal to be drugged yesterday morning, and the idea of drugging Powell in return had Neal smiling that wolfish little smile that made Peter want to lick those wickedly curved lips. “I think we have a plan, then… Jennings, find out what the most common dialects are in Manipur and see if we can find someone in the Bureau who speaks one of them. The rest of you start putting the mechanics of this together; I’ll see if I can sell this to Hughes. If we’re lucky, we can put this in motion by Monday.” As the team broke to follow Peter’s instructions, Peter met Neal’s eyes with a soft smile. “Gotta say: as ideas go, it’s not the most insane thing you’ve ever come up with.”

Neal warmed at the praise, standing up and walking to Peter’s side. “I’m trying to scale back on the risk-taking… there are people in my life who’ve raised certain objections to that kind of thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Peter grinned at him. “You’re a genius… you know that, right?”

Fighting down the urge to run a hand through Peter’s hair, Neal just grinned back. “And you caught me… so what does that make you?”

* * *

Friday sped by, absorbed in planning the sting and reviewing less urgent cases for new leads. Hughes had been a bit skeptical at first, hesitant of the Constitutional issues, but Peter had persuaded him without any assistance from Neal. It only reinforced Neal’s belief that if Peter had been a con instead of an FBI agent, they would have been a force of nature among the criminal elite.

Moz had been reluctant to agree at first, when Neal met with him on Saturday afternoon to recruit him for the injection of the dye into Powell’s juice. “I don’t like the idea of being part of the Man’s plot to entrap someone.”

“Don’t think of it like that,” Neal had wheedled carefully. “If it was us pulling the con, exacting our own form of justice on Powell by stealing his ill-gotten gains, you wouldn’t hesitate. This guy needs to be stopped, Moz; he’s a parasite.”

Grumbling, Moz had given in. “Oh, by the way,” he’d said, deliberately changing the subject. “I heard back from our contacts at the Palette Knife.”

“And?”

“Seems Alex is in New York.” Moz’s eyes had gleamed with excitement. “And Vincent was convinced that Alex knows where the music box is.”

Neal’s own eyes had brightened, and he’d filed the information away. “After this case is over, Moz, track her down. She and I should have a chat.”

* * *

Sunday night was dinner at the Burkes; Neal’s first since his and Peter’s break and their reconciliation. Elizabeth had gone all out, and Neal had the odd sense that she was celebrating. Of course, the threesome fantasy that had sprung into his mind so unexpectedly that past Thursday morning kept edging into his consciousness, leaving Neal feeling unbalanced.

Peter noticed. “What’s wrong?” he’d asked softly as Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen to fetch dessert.

“Nothing,” Neal replied, lying through his teeth but not wanting to tell Peter what the elephant in the room was. “Just a little jumpy. I always get this way before a con.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter kissed the corner of Neal’s mouth, resting a reassuring hand between Neal’s shoulder blades. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

When Elizabeth emerged, she smiled at the sight of Neal and Peter’s physical proximity. “Everything okay in here?”

“Just fine,” Neal said with a smile. “Your husband is actually reassuring me about a con we’re going to pull on the doctor running the organ-donation scam. If Peter had ever decided to embark on a life of crime, we could’ve made quite a team.”

“I hope by ‘we’, you mean the three of us,” Elizabeth replied, obviously amused at the notion. “No way I would’ve let you boys have all the fun.”

* * *

The intervening week passed at a crawl for Neal; the ramp up to a con usually did. Surveillance on Powell showed that the induced symptoms were definitely convincing; he was looking agitated, nerves frayed with concern as he tried to maintain his normal routine. By the time Powell’s groceries were delivered on Friday, Neal could sense that his reaction to the dye in his urine would be exactly what they’d predicted.

A doctor making a house call confirmed it; Powell firmly believed that he was going into renal failure. A few hours after Powell’s doctor left, Neal exited the surveillance van and called Powell from a nearby payphone.

_“Yes?”_

_I’ve got him… I can tell already by the tone of his voice…_ “Dr. Powell, can you hear me? It’s Dr. Parker, from DGI. You remember?”

_“I remember.”_

“Good! Good. Listen: I’m in India, and I’ve got good news.”

_“Are you… are you saying that you have something for me?”_

Somehow, the desperate hope in Powell’s voice only made Neal angry. _He’s heard that same hope in hundreds of patients’ voices… used that hope to make millions… the ends **do not** justify the means… not this time…_ “I’m saying you should buy a plane ticket right away.”

A moment of silence… muffled rustling… Neal knew instinctively that Powell was overcome with relief… _“I can be on a plane by morning. You’re in Manipur?”_

“Yes… the sooner you get here, the better.”

* * *

As Peter predicted, the execution went off without a hitch. Powell never suspected the contents of the bottle Jones gave him to help swallow the sleeping pills he’d popped into his mouth as he came out to the car, and was out cold before Jones made it even halfway to JFK.

They had more than enough time to get set up in the house, quickly staging a storage room with a small window to look like a third-world clinic. Peter listened from the van as Neal spun the prepared story for Powell, every word crystal clear through the transmitter embedded in the stethoscope around Neal’s neck.

_“Is… is the donor here?”_

_“He is… and he’s curious about what kind of charitable contributions you can make to our clinic.”_

_“Well that’s not… it’s not gonna be a problem. I can get you a hundred thousand by tomorrow!”_

_“Oh, I was… thinking more along the lines of thirty million.”_

Peter nearly choked right along with Powell. Even if Neal’s math was right and Powell had that much to pay, it was really going for broke to try and push Powell into agreeing to pay that much. _Of course, half the reason Neal is this good is because he’s got the guts to go for the glory…_

_“Thirty million? Are… are you insane?”_

_“How much is your life worth to you, Doctor?”_

_“You’re shaking me down?”_

_“I’m asking a question.”_

The steel in Neal’s tone sent quiet thrills down Peter’s spine. Neal was a consummate performer, and Peter could imagine the anger in those snapping blue eyes… channeled from the very real emotion that Powell inspired… he wished he could be watching Neal right now; Neal did love performing for him…

_“I – I can… I don’t know… I can get you, uh… uh… two million.”_

_“This isn’t a negotiation. Padichadika? This machine should be free in the next few hours.”_

_“Wait! Wait-wait-wait, wait… wait… I have a-an account. There’s not thirty million in there, but it’s close, all right? I can have that money transferred anywhere you want.”_

_“That’ll raise flags.”_

_“No-no-no, no… no, this account… this is… it’s completely secure. Wha… all right: you know, it was set up to siphon money from my charity. It was designed to be untraceable. It’s at New Reserve: 774196B. Password: cranberry.”_

_“Then I have what I want.”_ Peter could hear the smile in Neal’s voice, matching his own. Powell had just handed them everything they needed. _“Let’s see how quickly we can get you healthy again.”_

Peter all but jumped from the surveillance van as Neal and Padichadika came out to meet them, grinning like a fool and suppressing the urge to hug Neal in congratulations on a stellar performance. “How long until he comes out?”

“That machine should quit any second now,” Neal informed him, his own grin as broad as Peter’s. “It really was a piece of junk.”

Sure enough, Powell came out the door a few minutes later, blinking in the bright light of day and in utter confusion at the sight of Manhattan rather than rural India. “Welcome back to New York, Dr. Powell,” Peter greeted, flashing his FBI badge.

It was all he could do not to smack Neal on the back of the head when he paralleled the gesture and flashed that damned toy sheriff’s badge.

* * *

They found June at another of Samantha’s soccer games later that afternoon. Processing Powell and writing up their statements hadn’t taken long, and Peter didn’t want to be there to arrest Melissa for her part in the scam. He’d as soon never see her again. So instead, he’d escorted Neal to Central Park, wanting to give her the good news in person.

“June, I want you to know: we got Powell,” Peter told her after she’d hugged Neal in greeting. “Once he tied himself to the charity’s account, the rest of his operation came tumbling down.”

“Thank you,” June whispered, overcome with relief.

“Tell her the best part,” Neal urged, wanting Peter to have the moment.

“Samantha’s back at her original spot on the list.” Peter watched relief and hope wash over June’s face; it was the type of moment he rarely got to see, even at the end of a case. “In light of the scandal, we were able to make some calls to the registry; convince them to re-examine their position.” Looking away from the intensity of her emotion, Peter watched Samantha kicking the ball away from her team’s goal. “She’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, she is,” Neal said, echoing June’s response to his own observation over a week ago. A week that had seen so much change…

“Let me know how the game turns out,” Peter instructed Neal gently, turning to leave.

“Wait,” June called. “Aren’t you staying?”

Peter turned back and met Neal’s knowing eyes. Much as he wanted to, Peter had two lovers to attend, and one deserved no less attention than the other. “Nope. I’ve got to go pick up my wife. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

As Peter walked away, Neal couldn’t contain the smile that curved his lips. Peter was taking his advice… June hugged closer to him, grateful beyond words, and Neal turned his attention to her.

He’d done what he’d set out to do the last time they’d been here: helped Samantha and June, taken down an organization and a man who preyed on people at their most vulnerable, and gotten Peter back.

_Break’s over… time to find Alex…_


End file.
